


Progress.

by aphn_un



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover in later chapters, Local jaded and heavily depressed woman finds herself comforted by a bunch of personified food, Moving On, Occasional swearing, Original Character(s), Other Character Tags to be Added - Freeform, POV First Person, Slice of Life, Starting Over, Vomiting, depictions of violence, depictions of whiskey beware y'all, graphic depictions of gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 12:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 151,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16429742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphn_un/pseuds/aphn_un
Summary: "You know what? You talk so much about progress, but I really do think that I am incapable of it. I tried when I first came here, honest to God I tried, but now look at me, look at all of us. We were like a family and what are we now?No 'progress' has been made here, so please stop saying that ugly, ugly word."





	1. Chapter 1

Goodness only knows how I got here. What series of events could’ve possibly lead to me ending up in this situation?

Even when I screwed up my eyes and cast my memory back to the best of my ability, I couldn’t recall what had happened. All I could stand to remember before I grew too scared to think further was a series of low, chattering growling, the frenzied rustle of dried leaves and a white-hot pain that seemed to cut me in half.

Cut in half… Oh, Christ.

Sucking in a fearful breath, I found myself sitting bolt upright, yet was immediately accosted with an oppressive darkness that at first seemed to render my vision completely useless.  
Torch? God, did I pack a torch? Did I at least think to bring _something_ useful along with me in my panicked haste to leave? Yes - yes I did!

My breathing increased tenfold as for a split second I feared that my attacker -

_Who were they again?_

Augghh..

\- had swiped my bag from me when they’d fled, but to my relief I soon felt it lying crumpled in a damp heap beside me. My hands plunged into it in desperation, fumbling through a passport, snacks, tissues, lip balm.

Torch, 

torch, goddamnit, _blin,_

_ugh…_

 

———— 

 

Ahah. 

Perhaps - after all of that - I’d managed to find my torch after all, everything was so bright, burning almost, shining through my eyelids, colouring my vision a bright and sickening shade of red.

On second thought, that light looked an awful lot like sunlight.

Tentatively, I cracked open one eye before immediately closing it again with a high-pitched whine, _Christ_ that was bright, far too bright to be a torch at any rate… After a few more moments of painful wincing and heavy blinking, the light finally became bearable and I managed to open my eyes and take in my surroundings for the first time.  
The first thing that greeted me, apart from the glaring sunlight above, was a huge canopy of trees, thousands upon thousands of branches twisting and twining together, their leaves stained the sickly pale oranges and mottled reds of early autumn. The cover was so vast, it was a wonder that any sunlight had managed to peek through at all.

As I lay there, taking in the pleasant sight above me, I became more and more aware of my predicament. I was flat on my back for starters, and judging by the soft crunching beneath me whenever I moved, I’d found myself a makeshift bed on a thin mattress of dead leaves. Goodness knows how many twigs and - God help me - bugs had managed to tangle themselves into my hair as I’d slept. It was chilly too, even for me it was chilly, was this time of year usually this brisk?  
Motivated by this rather nasty thought, I hauled myself up into a sitting position, wincing as I seemed to bring half the forest floor up with me, but as it soon turned out, a head-full of leaves was the very least of my worries.

“… Shit…”

A single glance down at myself was all it took to tell me why it seemed so cold. My thin jacket and button-up shirt had been completely shredded around my midriff, revealing the skin beneath. The fabric hung sadly in tattered, damp and darkened strips, what the Hell had happened? Had I fallen into a pond? A thorn bush? It would’ve had to have been a pretty damn _big_ thorn bush.

Torch, growling, pain, something to do with a…

Ugh, God. It hurt too much to think too deeply.

Cradling my head in my hands, I stood up slowly and immediately winced again as my vision swam, I could never get away from head rush, even when I stood up carefully I always found myself accosted with it.  
But then, slowly, along with the head rush, other things began to resurface. Ah, that’s right, I’d been heading up to a port City, one of the biggest out of the newly established world map, or so I’d been told, it really did seem like the best place to go considering my current situation. I didn’t particularly want to call myself a refugee, but that was probably the best thing I could call myself, as the steadily worsening state of my old home had finally lead me to shove a few worldly possessions into a old rucksack and bolt into the next country; Gloriville, or something like that. 

Just thinking of my home now gave me a stomachache, the same one that had been coming and going since I left, I’d never been good at travelling outside of where I’d grown up and lived my whole life, but now it seemed as though I’d have to simply _toughen up._

At some point, in amongst the thoughts swarming around my head, I realised that I’d begun to walk, resuming a path that I appeared to have been following the previous night before the incident. Or the attack, whatever it was, maybe I’d found myself on the receiving end of a very pissed off bear, that would explain the growling, but it didn’t look as if it had done me any damage besides roughing up my clothing a bit, so I did my best to put it out of my mind for now.  
As the path wound on, and my brain slipped into autopilot, I became aware of something rustling and crackling in the back pocket of my jeans, thinking that it was just another leaf, I reached behind me and yanked at the culprit, only find my fingers grappling at paper, not leaf matter.  
I brought myself to an uneasy stop in order to squint at the note in my hand, it appeared to be an address and a name, I recognised my own writing at least… It seemed to me like a contact, like I’d scribbled down a name, number, and a place that someone had shouted frantically at me as I’d left - oh, oh _fuck!_

Finally it hit me, the urgency, the desperation to get out of this forest and find the woman whose name I’d scrawled down onto the very piece of paper in my hand. I was supposed to have met up with her last night, for _heaven’s sake!_

I’d have to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird little AU/Crossover idea that I've had in my head for a while. But it's part of the story to not know what I've crossed FF over with. Though, considering how terrible I am at keeping secrets, people probably already know.
> 
> Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

Much to my dismay, the sun had risen in the sky and was growing hotter and hotter by the time I reached the edge of the forest. Even in September, temperatures could still rise up into the double digits, and as a result I was more than a little warm under the collar. The clothes I had on were far better suited to colder climates, as were the ones that had been haphazardly stuffed into my bag. 

I’d probably have to buy some cooler clothing when I eventually reached wherever it was I was headed. Oh, God... Would I even be able to _afford_ to buy anything? The contact I’d been given was a good start, yes, and it carried with it the potential to start fresh, but would I still be given the time of day after failing to show up when I’d said I would?  
The worries now buzzing insistently around my head made my walk up a dirt path ploughed around the edge of a field a thoroughly unpleasant one. I hadn’t come all this way only to find myself without food or shelter upon arrival. Even though the job that had been proposed to me sounded wretched, it was still a living, and that was really all anyone could ask for given the current circumstances.

As I walked, my thoughts turned once again to the horrid state of the world, the mass destruction of cities disappearing into clouds of smoke, monsters preying on humans, worldwide panic…  
I remembered thinking to myself – when all of this destruction first began – how quaint it was that the beginning of the end of the world hadn’t been brought about by anything feasible like disease or climate change or even some twisted version of the Rapture. No, the human race had ended up as _prey_ for creatures the likes of which no one had ever seen, hyper-intelligent and destructive, and they were _everywhere._  
Some might’ve said that humanity had finally gotten their comeuppance, what with all their meddling with the natural order of things, slaying animals, polluting the land. Some might’ve said that these new creatures had been sent down by God himself as a means to smite humans and cleanse the earth, Noah’s ark 2.0 perhaps.  
Whatever the cause and whatever its purpose, the world as I’d known it was no more, existence was – of course – still possible, albeit sheltered, but how was I supposed to survive here where I had no friends or family if I couldn’t survive back home? If I could even call it ‘home’ anymore. 

It had probably been reshaped and renamed just like the rest of the world, or at least it would be in due time.

Eventually I realized that the ground beneath my feet had levelled out, and upon closer inspection discovered that I’d begun to walk on cobbles rather than dry earth. I listened out for movement, noise, even the tiniest whisper of sound, and as I walked on, to my great relief I finally heard it, the hustle and bustle of what was unmistakably a City.  
After vaulting a wooden gate – realising as I did so that I’d probably just walked the length of someone else’s property – my eyes, ears and nose soon became accosted by the sounds, sights and smells of what seemed to be a market.  
_Oh_ and what a market it was, as I moved forwards away from the gate, the sight of wooden stalls upon wooden stalls lining the cobbled street, jam packed with produce eventually grew bigger and brighter until I was practically speechless. My eyes roved hungrily over the freshly baked bread stacked in impossibly neat displays; crates and crates of newly washed vegetables and fruits sitting neatly side by side, above which hung succulent cuts of meat; intricately decorated layered cakes stood proudly impressively alongside their smaller, simply iced siblings and all the while, the unmistakable smell of frying onions flooded my nose. 

Someone evidently had a food cart running, if only I’d thought to bring some money with me, but then again I probably would’ve brought the wrong currency anyway.

Still entranced by the mouth-watering sight, I nonetheless found myself a tad overwhelmed by all the noise, the cacophony of stall merchants calling cheerily into the crowd and the general chatter of people walking by was more than enough to throw me off a little, especially the _screaming._

Wait… Why was there screaming?  
Panic-stricken, I glanced around, thinking that perhaps this City – like so many others – was under attack from above, but the skies were clear, no threats in sight. Then, slowly but surely and with a thrill of growing horror, I began to realise that people were staring at _me_ and that the screams were in response to _me._  
Confused and scared, I backed away a little, thrown completely off guard by the dozens upon dozens of pairs of eyes that had suddenly swivelled to stare my way. Some people looked pityingly at me, others looked terrified, and a very select few looked as if they were ready to shoo me back behind the gate.

“What… I…”

But before I could say another word, I felt a warm hand grasp my wrist and a voice whisper something hurriedly into my ear.

At some point, I knew I had opened my mouth to speak, but the sudden shock of being half lead, half dragged through the crowd stole them from me completely. As my rescuer and I moved, I could see the people around me moving swiftly out of the way, all eyes still on me as I passed, the gentle and hushed rumble of talking soon resumed.  
Finally the crowds seemed to disperse, and I found myself being lead down a narrow street, if I hadn’t been so scared and confused, I would’ve taken the time to appreciate how picturesque it was. The houses on either side of me all appeared identical in structure but individually painted and decorated, no doubt to match the taste of their owner. Carefully pruned flower baskets hung neatly beside a few of the doors, and to my right I could see that one house had a delivery of freshly bottled milk waiting on the doorstep.

Then a voice sounded from somewhere above my head.  
Dimly, I glanced up, finally getting the chance to take in the appearance of my saviour; she was a tall woman of about forty, with a thin, ashen-skinned face and rather spectacular brown eyes, all framed by a neatly kept bob, she seemed to fit in very well with the immaculate surroundings she’d pulled me into.  
When I didn’t respond to whatever it was she’d said, her brow creased, and she surveyed me with a growing concern, but after a while figured it best to try again.

“How about English?” She asked kindly. “Can you understand that? I’m sorry; I’m not an expert at it. But I know a lot of people have been flooding in from other regions recently, there are quite a lot of different tongues to be heard around here nowadays, but unfortunately I only know the two.”

“U-Um,” I spluttered, trying and failing to process this, it seemed that my brain still wasn’t working as well as it should, “y-yes, yes I can understand English… You speak it just fine, really you do. Um... Thank you, by the way, for dragging me away from there, I’m sorry, I’m really confused. Why did everyone scream like that? I hope they don’t perceive me as a threat, I-I’m only here to work, I…”

“But… Oh, my dear, surely the reason why they were screaming is no mystery to you?” The woman cut me off, her eyes widening with shock. “Look at yourself… Is it really any wonder why people were alarmed?”

“… What?”

“You’re covered in _blood!"_ She cried, gesticulating rather elegantly with her hand. “Look at your clothes!”

Numbly, I did as she’d instructed, and with a sickening jolt I realised that the reason why my clothes had felt damp to me hadn’t been because of some fall in a lake at all.

Though it was a hard to see owing to the already dark fabric of my jacket and shirt, in the unsheltered light coming from above, I could now see that the cloth was stained horribly with blood, and it wasn’t just my jacket and shirt either, my jeans had suffered from it too. All down my legs there were splatters and streaks of old blood, it seemed to have run down from my waist, or perhaps somewhere _above_ my waist, but…

“What on earth has happened to you, my dear?” The woman was speaking again, her tone tremulous but understanding. “Did you get into a fight? You don’t look hurt at all, but your clothes tell a very different story, did you seek assistance from a Support Soul?”

“A… What?”

“In any case, I can’t just leave you out on your own like this,” she went on, “I'll tell you what, my house is just a little further down here. I can get Yuxiang to prepare you some tea; you look like you need it. But first, I must ask you.”

Here, she bent down a little so that her face was a tad more level with mine, it made me quite uncomfortable, but I felt as if I owed it to her to look her in the eye.

“What have you come here for? Didn’t you say something about coming here to work? I’m sorry, but I'd like to know, you see, we have a lot of unfortunate people coming through looking for employment only to get turned away. What with the world being in this state, we’re running quite low on vacancies.”

My heart sank a little at that, it was exactly what I’d feared, that I’d arrive too late and find every opportunity already taken up. I fumbled about in my bag for the note I’d found in my back pocket and handed it out to her with a slightly shaking hand, the day’s events were really starting to catch up with me.  
She took it curiously and opened it up, scanning it once before sighing sadly.

“I’m sorry, my dear, I can’t read whatever language this is written in, could you perhaps…”

“I-It’s a name and an address,” I mumbled, internally kicking myself for assuming she’d be able to read it, “for s-someone named Olivia I think, I was told that she was part of –

“Oh my!” The woman cried, causing me to jump back a little, I was still on edge from everything that had happened, after all. “ _Olivia!_ Of the Skeleton Guild, yes! I know her very well! So that means…”

She paused for a moment, scanning me with those brilliant eyes of hers once again, the silence growing in intensity between us before she finally clapped her hands, as if she’d suddenly remembered something deeply important.  
“Bless my soul, yes! Of course, _you_ were the candidate expected to turn up last night, aren’t you? I heard a message on the wind about it, oh you poor, poor thing… What a positively horrid time you’ve had!”

Slightly relieved yet still utterly confused, I allowed her to grab my hand again and begin to lead me further down the street, still babbling excitedly as we walked.

“Well now, don’t you worry your pretty head, I’m sure Olivia will understand, after all, you didn’t ask to get roughed up like that. Do you remember anything about what happened? Perhaps the face of your attacker, or the motive behind their attack? Anything helps, dear.”

“I, ah,” I paused recalling, once again, the sound of that horrid growling, I shook my head jerkily, “n-no, I don’t remember anything.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

“Here we are!”

A few doors down, we finally came to a halt outside a house quite like the others I’d seen, it was built with redbrick, and its door was mahogany brown in colour and heavily polished. To me, it all looked surprisingly new, but nonetheless as pleasant as any other house we’d passed.

“In you go,” came the woman’s voice again, “come along now, don’t dawdle around outside like that.”

I shook my head a little in an attempt to clear it, and quickly stepped inside after her, looking forward to the prospect of tea and a sit down, but I found myself stopped all of a sudden by a single hand at my chest.  
“Oh, shoes off if you please,” she told me, already barefoot herself, “there should be a rack for you to put them in there, once you’re done, I’ll go and prepare some tea for you, do you have any preferences?”

“Umn,” I started, trying to talk, balance on one leg and unzip my ankle boot at the same time, “no, no thank you, I’ll be happy to drink anything, really.” 

I highly doubted that she’d have the tea I was used to back at home.

“Well then, I’ll make you something to calm your nerves, your breathing has been terribly shaky since I found you,” she soothed, turning to leave as soon as I’d placed my shoes in the racks she’d indicated, before spinning back around to me, “oh! I’ve completely forgotten to introduce myself! Forgive me, I suppose we were rather distracted back then, weren’t we? You can call me Zhouyun, my dear, what’s your name?”

“Umn,” for a second I fumbled, and was accosted by a swooping fear that perhaps I’d forgotten my own name in all the confusion of the day, but then my mouth very kindly remembered how to form words, “i-it’s Noyabrina, Noyabrina Olegovna, but Nonna is just fine. I’m sorry I know it’s an awfully long…”

“’Olegovna’?” Zhouyun repeated carefully, that inquisitive stare back on her face once again, I felt a little like an animal in a zoo. “That sounds Slavic to me, as does your accent! Tell me, Nonna, did you come here from the North?”

“Uh, yes,” I replied trying to ignore the horrible drop in my stomach as I spoke of the place, “North West if you want to be specific, things were bad there, really bad, but a friend of mine was kind enough to refer me to Olivia, so here I am.”

“Indeed!” She exclaimed, placing a hand at the small of my back and leading me through to the kitchen, that soft look of sympathy once again worn upon her face. I resisted the urge to tell her to cut it out, I was getting a little tired of seeing it on _every_ person I encountered.  
At that point, I decided to just stop thinking for a while and instead let Zhouyun prepare the tea she’d mentioned, while she worked, I took the time to take in my surroundings again. Her kitchen was wonderfully organised and simply decorated, lit only by a single but large, circular window through which daylight could stream into the room. Smooth wooden cupboards surrounded us on all sides, no doubt full of cooking utensils and various condiments; it was all beautifully designed yet it still carried that strange, brand new feeling that the front of her house had given me. However, that didn’t stop me from sitting at her table, relieved to finally take the weight off of my aching feet.

“I’m making you a tea called _‘Qian Ri Hong,’”_ Zhouyun spoke brightly, bringing me out of my reverie once again, “it’s actually a medicinal brew! It should have you feeling much better in no time at all. Yuxiang! Could you fetch me the tea set, please? We have a guest!”  
I glanced about to see who she was talking to, but saw no one else, figuring that the person called Yuxiang must’ve been in another room, I dropped my chin down to rest it in the palm of my hand until the swish of fabric and the soft padding of footsteps caused me to glance up again.

“Here, Master Attendant.”

I could do nothing else but gape, for the woman who appeared in the opposite doorway was quite spectacular from head to toe. She was slender in build, a few inches taller than I was, dressed in a long, black skirt and a half-sleeved, bright red shirt with a mandarin collar. But her face was undoubtedly the most splendid thing about her, she looked almost doll-like with her warm brown eyes and ruby lips all set in an oval face of unblemished skin, if she hadn’t been moving, I could’ve sworn that someone had painted her.  
In her delicate hands, she carried the tea set Zhouyun had asked her to bring, and she almost glided across the room to place it carefully upon the table, her soft, caramel-coloured hair hanging about her face in ringlets. This was Yuxiang? Who on earth was she? Was she even _human?_ I certainly didn’t think so. 

“Whatever is the matter, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Zhouyun was laughing at me again, and appeared to pay no mind to the _goddess_ who she’d so casually asked to retrieve the tea set. All I could do was stare blankly at her for a moment or two, utterly at a loss for words, but thankfully Yuxiang was there to fill the silence in a voice that was just as lovely as the rest of her.

“Perhaps she’s never seen a Food Soul before, Master Attendant,” she said, in slightly accented English, holding a perfectly manicured hand up to her perfectly painted lips to cover a laugh of her own, “we aren’t universally known quite yet, after all.”

“Sorry…?” I croaked out, finally finding my voice again, but I was curious too. This was the second time I’d heard this ‘soul’ business mentioned, yet nobody seemed any closer to telling me what it all meant.  
Thankfully, Yuxiang and Zhouyun appeared to have finished their little giggle, and – to my great relief – began to speak to me again. 

“You’ll have to forgive me, Nonna,” the latter laughed, her eyes sparkling, “I confess, I sometimes forget that most other places haven't quite caught up to us, not that I can blame it! What with everything that has happened, the whole world has gone mad, but really, it would be best for you to know what a Food Soul is if you are to accept the position Olivia no doubt has for you. Ah – speaking of which…”

Here she trailed off, and I watched – still dumbfounded – as she turned her attention to Yuxiang, relaying a set of instructions to her in a language that I couldn’t understand, but it seemed to make sense to her, as she nodded her head politely before leaving the room once more, her long skirt floating behind her ethereally.

“I’ve sent her to fetch Olivia for you,” Zhouyun kindly explained, pouring me a generous cup of hot tea, “I could always give you directions, but you’ve been though enough today. Besides, you can’t go out looking like that, not after the stir you caused back at the market.”

“I really am sorry about that…” I mumbled, but was greeted immediately by Zhouyun’s waving hand.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. Like I said before, you didn’t _ask_ to get attacked like that. Now, I was about to tell you about Food Souls, wasn’t I? I’m sure Olivia can add on to what I have to say when she arrives, but for now…”  
She trailed off, but not before she had taken a seat beside me at the kitchen table, pushing my tea towards me, which I took with a nod of thanks. Its taste was strange, sweet and very floral, quite unlike any herbal tea I’d tasted before, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but I couldn’t see myself drinking it for anything other than medicinal reasons.

“Food Souls,” Zhouyun began, her long fingers steepled together, “are wonderful, wonderful beings, contrary to popular belief, they’ve been around for quite some time! Though, I doubt they’ve always been in such high demand as they are now. Food souls are, quite simply, food brought to life.”

“Come again?” I asked, perhaps a little too rudely, my teacup held halfway to my mouth, but despite that, the drop in my stomach was enough to make my hand shake. Food brought to life… If what Zhouyun said was true and Yuxiang was a Food Soul, that undoubtedly made her personified food, that made her a…

“W-Wait. So like a _representative_ of a certain food?” I blurted out, so suddenly that Zhouyun glanced up at me worriedly, she seemed a little confused at my wording, but another smile soon replaced all other emotion.

“Yes, I suppose you could call them that,” she chuckled, taking a swig from her own teacup, “yuxiang itself is actually a seasoning, something to enhance the flavour of food, but as you can probably tell, Yuxiang the Food Soul looks almost nothing like the food she embodies, she is the soul of the food, its history, its culture, all of it housed in a human body.”

I sat stunned in my chair, all the while Zhouyun continued to smile serenely, taking advantage of the silence to refill her cup, but my mind was anything but silent. I had been told prior to my arrival here, that my job would revolve around food, and Zhouyun had said that ‘it would be best to know what a food soul is if you are to accept the position’. Did that mean I would end up working in close collaboration with beings like Yuxiang? I didn’t know… But the mere idea of the existence of these Food Souls made my stomach churn oddly and uncomfortably, how had I never heard of them before if they’d been around for ‘quite some time’?

I wasn’t sure just how long I’d been sitting there for when the sound of the front door opening and closing brought me back to earth with a crash, as did the gentle buzz of voices in the hallway. Zhouyun - ever the gracious host - stood up with a flourish, taking two more cups off of the tray before moving to the door, just in time to greet Yuxiang and the woman she’d brought with her. Somehow I was a little too afraid to turn around, I certainly didn’t want to find that Olivia was angry with me.

“So sorry to coop you up here on such a lovely day, Olivia,” Zhouyun was saying, her voice as sweet as ever, “but as you can see, I didn’t think it wise to pull her around anymore, she’s had a truly dreadful day.”

I kept my eyes downcast, my ears burning with shame, I shouldn’t have had that 'dreadful day’ in the first place, the least I could’ve done for Olivia was to actually have the good grace to meet her at the time and date she’d proposed.

“Noyabrina?”

I shuddered a little at the sound of her voice, but knew that it would be rude to keep on staring at my feet. Grudgingly, and no doubt with anxiety written all over my face, I looked up, finally staring into the eyes of the person I’d come all of this way to see. Olivia was quite a remarkable woman in appearance; she was tall and thin, with strawberry blonde hair tied back into a neat ponytail. She dressed in a crisp and newly pressed uniform of white and black trimmed with gold, and it was evident just by her posture that she was proud and refined… God, what an utter shambles this was.

“That’s me,” I replied, trying to speak around the lump that had formed in my throat, “Olivia, I really must apologise to you… I really didn’t think I would encounter any problems, foolish of me, really. O-Of course, I understand if you don’t want to take me on now, I know you must have far better things to do than wait around for layabouts like me, I’m…”

Olivia held up her hand for silence, and with a splutter, I obeyed her, thinking that perhaps I’d said too much, surely she was about to tell me to clear off, to go back to where I’d come from, surely.

“I’m not angry with you, Noyabrina.” Olivia sighed, ignoring the way my mouth fell open in an ugly gape in response, “just worried. Even though this wasn’t your fault, you still kicked up quite a _fuss_ down in the market and word travels quickly. Of course, I know that you didn’t mean to cause panic, but you have and that in itself is a problem.”

Zhouyun and Yuxiang had both fallen horribly quiet, a rather large part of me hoped that they would come to my rescue; even Zhouyun insisting that we needed more tea would’ve sufficed. For all of Olivia’s insistence that she wasn’t angry with me, it sure as Hell felt like she was, somehow her quiet concern was even worse than being shouted at.  
Olivia took up Zhouyun’s unoccupied seat, and to my horror I heard both her and Yuxiang leave the room, I glanced over my shoulder desperately for help, but found myself staring around an empty kitchen, we were completely alone.  
Olivia surveyed me for a moment or so with her ice blue eyes, her long fingers drumming thoughtfully along the material of her bag, as if deciding whether or not to open it.

“Noyabrina, I must be frank with you, I’m well aware that you didn’t ask to get attacked, but as I stated before, news travels. It isn’t every day people see someone in your position, there will be talk, a lot of it.”

“I really am so, so sorry,” I tried again, internally wincing at the plea in my voice, “if I’d noticed the blood, I swear I would’ve sorted myself out, but I think whatever attacked me must’ve knocked me silly!”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” Olivia said, a crease forming between her shaped brows, “what I meant is, it isn’t every day people see a _survivor,_ of any kind. Nine times out of ten, any attacks that happen here in Gloriville are fatal, humans stand little to no chance against the Fallen Angels, having come from the North, I would’ve thought that you would know that.”

I felt my stomach drop again, only lower this time. ‘Fallen angels’ was that what they were calling them? Those wretched creatures who had laid waste to my home, turning buildings to dust, slaying everyone that crossed their path, if Olivia was suggesting that I’d encountered a fallen angel in that forest, how I’d managed to get away was truly beyond me.

“So, naturally,” she went on, “there are already skeptics, those who think you pulled off this little stunt just for the publicity, and there are already those who wish to give you their congratulations, if you can call it that. As stated before, it’s nothing short of a miracle that you survived whatever attack befell you, a lone human woman walking about in the woods by herself, you should’ve been dead where you stand. Do you understand what I’m getting at here?”

“Y-Yes and no?” I replied, still with that pleading bite in my voice. “I’m really not asking for any trouble, Olivia, I swear. I’m not trying to fake anything, and I’m not trying to impress anyone either! I just want to _work.”_

“I’m well aware of that, Noyabrina, but intended or not, you already have a reputation,” Olivia said sharply, “and reputation is extremely important in Gloriville, if you aren’t trustworthy, you won’t get business, that’s just how things go. I’m afraid that if you are to succeed, you must first earn your place here, work through this little scandal and get yourself a network, build connections and get friendly with people. You’re actually incredibly lucky that Zhouyun was the one who found you, she’s an established Cooking Attendant and is well respected, you would do well to stay on good terms with her, because she may well be the one to pull you out of this mess.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out, this truly was a multitude of information to take in, and on top of everything else that had happened that day, it was no wonder I was rendered speechless. Olivia waited for a moment or two, before sighing and delving into her bag, pulling out several important looking letters and a neat black pen.

“In spite of this, I do still have a position open that needs to be filled immediately, so you’ll need to sign some papers for me before any further action is taken. You were recommended to me by a trusted contact, Noyabrina, and luckily for you they only had good things to say about you and your skillset. So keep your nose clean and see how you go, do I make myself clear?”

“O-Of course, yes, Olivia,” I replied weakly, my brain was too frazzled for me to really voice how unfair this all seemed, “thank you so much, I promise that I’ll do my best not to cause anymore trouble.”

“Good.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

After that, the afternoon positively _dragged_ by. Papers were signed and contracts discussed, but even after all of that, a stony-faced Olivia had informed me that due to my late arrival, everything – including my lodgings – still required setting up. So I was to stay with Zhouyun for the night, if she would have me.

“Well, of course!” She had chirped, putting a warm arm about my shoulders. “Nonna can stay as long as she wants! A career as a cooking attendant isn’t an easy one, especially considering the bumpy start she’s had. Leave her here with me, we’ll stay out of your way, Olivia.”

So, after a day of being rather unnecessarily fussed over, I was given the guest bedroom, which I took gratefully, though I was still overcome with the feeling that I really didn’t deserve any of it. In fact, the sensation eventually grew so unpleasant, that I ended up mentioning my discomfort in passing to Yuxiang, not that I’d intended to, but there was something about the young woman that caused my tongue to come loose.  
I’d expected her to be angry, and perhaps to scold me for being so thankless after all Zhouyun had done for me, but on the contrary, my confession seemed to make her laugh! Tittering prettily to herself, she held her delicate hand up to her mouth as if to stifle the rather charming sound.

“Oh, Miss Nonna, you don’t have to feel bad about any of this!” She said merrily. “My Master Attendant is ever so generous; she has been for all the years I have been in her service. I assure you, it is absolutely no trouble for her to offer you a room, I have lost count of just how many people she has lent this room to over the years.”

“Right,” I replied in a murmur, her words had indeed succeeded in lifting some of the guilt nestled in my chest, but they had also stirred up something else, something curious, “Yuxiang, I’m so sorry if this offends you, but I’m just having trouble understanding the relationship between Zhouyun and yourself, especially after all the talk of you being a food housed in a human body…”

“A ‘Food Soul’, Miss Nonna,” she corrected me kindly, bringing out several, immaculately folded towels from the linen cupboard for me to use the next morning, “but there’s no need to apologise, I know that the concept is hard to grasp, especially if you have never heard of us before. Simply put, we Food Souls are just that, the soul of a food, we were awakened and brought into this world to assist humanity in its war against the Fallen.”

I sat there silently for a moment as Yuxiang resumed her work around my room, tidying away the non-existent clutter and plumping up my pillows. Though her kindly explanation had definitely cleared up one or two things, it still seemed ever so hard for me to mull everything over; to me there was just so much to take in. 

“So you’re like Zhouyun’s assistant, I see. Your kind can’t have been around for very long, then, surely” I mused quietly, almost to myself, “this war of which you speak has only been going on for the past year or so.”

“Quite on the contrary, Miss Nonna!” Yuxiang replied, sweeping some of her immaculately styled hair out of her eyes. “I think Master Attendant may have mentioned to you that we have actually been walking this earth for a long time. But now that the Fallen have become more aggressive, our services are far more desperately sought after. We Food Souls and the Fallen have always been engaged in war, though I must say that we have managed to keep things quite balanced until now.”

“You must’ve done,” I mumbled to myself, looking down at my knees, fighting desperately with the urge to draw them up to my chest, “if only a smattering of humans had heard of you up to this point.”

“Quite, but you shouldn’t worry! It’s only a matter of time until we adapt to this new and far more violent pattern of attacks. We did it before, and we’ll do it again, I am confident that there will be another lull in due time.” 

Our conversation eventually petered out, until all that remained was the gentle ticking of a nearby clock, and the occasional rustle of Yuxiang smoothing out the covers of my bed.

“Well. Goodnight, Miss Nonna,” the Food Soul said, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence, “if you need anything during the night, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Thank you, Yuxiang, for everything you and Zhouyun have done.”

“Oh, I assure you it’s no trouble to us. Ah, but I feel as though I must warn you of one thing.” Yuxiang paused on her way out, her warm brown eyes suddenly clouded with worry. “Please, pay no heed to any strange noises you may hear outside… I’m afraid that every so often a Fallen ambles its way down our street, but I assure you that if anything of the sort happens, I will deal with it.”

I decided not to comment or question any further, instead I merely nodded to show my understanding, and offered her a smile as she slipped out of the door, clicking off the hallway light as she went.  
Numb and still fully clothed, I collapsed back onto my bed, my eyes angled towards the ceiling, unmoving and unblinking.

Now that I’d been left alone with nothing but my thoughts for company, the horrid ache in the pit of my stomach that had been present all day suddenly seemed much, much worse.

-

Thankfully, no strange noises were to be heard during the night, and to my great surprise I somehow managed to fall asleep, though Zhouyun did laugh when she came in to wake me up the next morning.

“Oh my, Nonna, you must’ve been dead on your feet to fall asleep in your clothes like that!” She chirped, surveying my half-hearted attempts to wake myself up with great amusement. “Well, the washroom is all yours, and when you’re ready, there’s breakfast waiting in the kitchen.”

After that wake-up call, the day then started with a promise of being one of rest and quiet recovery, until Olivia arrived.

“Ah, Noyabrina, I’m glad to see you up and washed.” She said waspishly, setting down a slightly smoking canvas sack down onto the table, ignoring Yuxiang and myself as we both winced in unison, Yuxiang’s concerns no doubt involved the table, but mine were far more personal. 

“You’d best eat your breakfast quickly,” Olivia was speaking again, bringing me out of the trance I’d fallen into, “we have a lot to do today.”

So, with a fresh bread roll stuffed hastily into my pocket, and a wish of good luck from Zhouyun ringing in my ears, I followed Olivia out into the cobbled street, keeping a close eye on the smouldering sack she held in her hand.  
We’d been walking for about ten minutes before we reached the square where just yesterday had hosted a whole market, today however it was completely deserted. 

“Curious about this, are you?” Olivia asked suddenly, bringing the sack up to my eye level. I stumbled back at the sight of it, repulsed to feel its heat on my face; Olivia regarded me with confusion, but must’ve dismissed my reaction as nothing important, for she began to speak again. Though she was kind enough to lower the bag.

“Well, you ought to be. What I have in this bag is going to be absolutely invaluable to you as a Cooking Attendant. After all, you cannot hope to run a restaurant on your own.”

“O-Of course not,” I replied, still a little perturbed, “but I didn’t think I’d be _running_ a restaurant. I thought I was going to be part of a team with other Cooking Attendants.”

“Heavens, no! You’ll be a part of a team, yes, but as of today, you’re head honcho,” Olivia said, frowning mightily, “but of course, it is a good idea to establish relations with other Cooking Attendants in the area. Do not alienate yourself from them, for there may be a time when you need their help, and very few of them have time to spare for those they do not like.”

With that unpleasant information now circling its way around my head, we continued our journey across the square and down a narrower street off to its left. This street was nothing like the one Zhouyun lived on; the architect was much more accurate to what I had expected of Gloriville for a start, and everything looked as if it had been there for many years, a stark contrast to the crisp and uniform appearance of those other streets. It was also a good deal darker and shabbier, yet to me it was homelier and held far more _character_ with its large-windowed shops, and the shadows of their owners bobbing about inside, busy working away at their jobs.  
Would I be working down here, then? Olivia had said that I’d have a restaurant and lodgings of my own, in spite of everything that had happened, the idea of owning a cosy little restaurant was a pleasant one. Perhaps I’d open a teashop, and fill its windows with intricately decorated cakes and floral patterned tea sets until they were fit to burst.

“In here.”

Olivia’s voice sounded again, so sharp and sudden that it seemed to slice through my delusions like a knife. We had arrived outside a shop equally as shabby as its neighbours, except this one’s exterior was painted black, and its curtains carefully drawn so that not even a slither of what lay within was visible. In stark contrast to the rest of the street, it didn’t look inviting or cosy at all.

“There?” I asked, apprehension evident in my voice. “It looks like a slaughterhouse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Noyabrina,” she scolded, placing a hand at the small of my back and steering me towards the door, “don’t let the way it looks put you off, what lies behind that door is the start of your career, now hurry up, we have an appointment.”

I felt my jaw drop.

Quite on the contrary to the outside, the inside was immaculate, so neatly maintained and so rigorously cleaned that the tile floor beneath my feet seemed to _glitter_ in the golden light cast by a handsomely decorated light that hung from the ceiling. The walls were lined with bookcase after bookcase of large, glossy books emblazoned with gold characters in a language that I couldn’t read, and the small stretches of wall that weren’t covered by the bookcases were home to dozens upon dozens of smartly framed pictures. I would’ve stopped to look at every one of them if I’d had the chance, but that hand at my back was there again and it was shoving hard.

“Noyabrina, really, don’t make me _carry_ you to Mister Pan, goodness knows he has enough on his plate today.”

“Mister P…”

I choked on my words, as a squat little man sitting at a desk suddenly came into my line of sight. It seemed that the positioning of the light above had cast just enough shadow to completely hide him from view. As we approached him, he glanced up at us with un-amused eyes, though his hand – in which he carried a handsome ink quill – never ceased its flying across the paper in front of him.

“English again?” He asked wearily in an accent very similar to Yuxiang’s. “Very well then…”

With a flourish, the piece of paper he’d been working on was shoved aside, and he inched back just a tad in his chair to retrieve another sheet from a draw in his desk, however, this one looked much longer, and far more official.

“Name, please.” He asked of me, eyes once again fixed on my face, his writing hand poised at the very top of the paper, waiting.

“U-Um,” I glanced at Olivia helplessly, but she didn’t seem to be listening, on the contrary, she had wondered off to the side to examine the books, her hands held neatly behind her back, “N-Noyabrina Olegovna Beriyeva. I-I can always write it down for you if it’s too…”

But Mister Pan was already scrawling down my name in intricately looped letters, and from what I could make out from reading it upside down, he had managed to spell it perfectly despite me only telling him once. That was certainly a first…

“You’re here to be a Cooking Attendant, aren’t you?” He asked, this time without looking up. “How big a restaurant are you hoping to run?”

“A small one to start off with,” Olivia’s answered for me this time, she sounded almost bored, “I dare say she won’t be needing a bigger one for quite some time considering the way things are at the moment. Start her off with a Magic Soul, they’re versatile, and will also give her a chance against any Fallen that will inevitably come wandering to her door.”

I had nothing to say to that, how could I when I could make no sense of at least half of what Olivia had said? Instead, I merely stood numbly before the desk, watching as Mister Pan continued to write, to fill out what I slowly began to realise was a form of some kind…  
After a few more moments of tense silence, broken only by the gentle scratching of the quill, Olivia moved forwards again and deposited the still smoking sack onto the table beside the form. Mister Pan surveyed it suspiciously, reaching out a stubby hand to pull open the cord and peer inside.

“One hundred and fifty… Yes. All in order, Madam Olivia, I shall get everything ready, if you would be so kind as to have Miss Beriyeva sign.”

“Sign _what?”_ I questioned, and I was confused to hear that my voice was at a much higher pitch than normal, but neither Olivia nor Pan paid me any attention. As the latter moved out from behind his desk, sack in hand, Olivia leant around me to turn the form the right way around, gesturing to the bottom of the paper with her finger. I could see two blank lines sitting there, one undoubtedly for my signature, and another for…

“Olivia, what exactly am I signing?” I asked sharply, annoyance now clearly in my voice as a quill was thrust into my hand.

“A contract.” Olivia replied in an equally short tone, her arms folded snugly around her chest. “An agreement between yourself and a Food Soul, you have come into contact with them before, have you not? Didn’t I explain to you yesterday that in order to run a restaurant safely, you have to work in collaboration with a Soul?”

“No, you didn’t.” I said curtly, making no move to sign the contract. “Really, this whole _Food Soul_ business sounds awfully crooked to me. Think about it for a moment, think of humanity, in a bid of desperation, awakening living, _conscious_ souls lying dormant in food so those souls could then go on to serve them?”

“So those souls could then go on to **assist** them.” Olivia corrected me, her voice rising a little in volume. “To be quite frank with you, Noyabrina. I really don’t have time for this, and I should tell you now that there are plenty of other candidates who are _desperate_ for a position like yours, the only reason I haven’t told you to get out of my sight is because of the recommendation given to me. Not a _day_ goes by without someone coming to me, begging for me to consider them and now it seems increasingly clear to me that you don’t realise just how lucky you are to have this opportunity, what with the world in the state that it is.”

There was a very nasty silence at that, in which Olivia and I merely glared at one another, my fists clenched, and Olivia’s stance rigid.

“If I were you,” she began again, her voice practically dripping with venom, “I would start being a little more grateful.”

I turned away, not bothering to dignify her words with a response, but the hand that held the quill was shaking and it seemed as though the room had suddenly grown hotter. The contract still lay on the table before me, icy and corporate, waiting eagerly for my signature at the bottom, waiting for my consent to place some poor Food Soul under my service indefinitely. Numbly, I found myself thinking back to the relationship I’d seen between Zhouyun and Yuxiang, the latter certainly hadn’t _appeared_ unhappy, with her cheerful smile and sunny voice, but Zhouyun was an experienced Cooking Attendant and there was no guarantee that _my_ Food Soul would lead an existence as happy as hers under my amateur direction.

But in the end, it was as Olivia had said, and it was as I’d seen back home. The Fallen were ruthless, durable, merciless, and if the attack I’d suffered in the forest had taught me anything, it was that they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt or kill me, thus ending the journey I’d embarked on, this effort to better myself after everything that had happened to my home and my loved ones.

“Fine.” I said icily, turning back to the desk, hastily scrawling my signature upon the first of the two lines before throwing the quill away from me as if it were poisonous. _“Fine.”_

“When you have both finished bickering...” Mister Pan had returned, a now empty sack held in his wizened old hand. “The portal is ready, all that is left is for Miss Beriyeva to activate it.”

“Excellent.” Olivia said crisply, ignoring the flood of questions that immediately begun to pour from my mouth, and judging by the harsh way she shoved me into the next room, it seemed as though she had lost all patience with me. Thankfully for her, the sight that greeted me was enough to steal any and all protests that had been bubbling up in my throat.

_“What in the world?”_

Set into the wooden wall directly opposite the door I’d just walked through, was a gigantic, glowing circle. Its golden light was so brilliant and so intense that it lit up the whole room and even the tiniest corners and the narrowest cracks in the wood seemed to be illuminated. Around its rim, two smaller and thinner black circles spun slowly, almost lazily, their calm mechanism generating a gentle, pulsing hum of power that hung in the air around me, and as I stared transfixed, it merely continued to glow, waiting, waiting… 

“Well?” Came Mister Pan’s voice from somewhere behind me, and I turned numbly to see him leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded. “You cannot just expect it to spit out a Food Soul by itself, Miss Beriyeva. Go ahead, pull the lever to activate it.”

I turned my gaze back into the room, noticing that it did indeed have a lever built into the floor beside it, its intricately moulded handle glimmering in the golden light cast by the portal.  
Slowly, I made my way forward, closer and closer; horribly conscious of how loud my footsteps were, clunking across the wooden floorboards beneath. Then, my hand finally came to rest upon the lever’s handle, noting with slight surprise, the gentle vibrations and the heat coming from it.

At that very moment I knew for a fact that this contraption and whoever had built it were clearly not of this world.

With a series of heavy, mechanical clunks, I pulled back the lever as far as it would go, so that its handle almost touched the floor, and in an instant, the light in the room intensified harshly, until it grew too bright to look at directly. Though I still had time to see and feel the portal begin to move before I had no choice but to squeeze my eyes shut against the glaring light. I could hear it spinning and spinning, faster and faster with an ugly screech of metal against metal, so ferocious were its movements that the room shook, and I could feel dust and bits of plaster dropping down onto my head and shoulders from the ceiling above.

Overcome with the urge to cover my ears and crouch down low to the floor in case the whole room caved in, I slowly began to realise that the din was beginning to subside, although faintly. Still wincing from a headache that I knew would turn into a complete sensory overload later, I cracked open my eyes cautiously, peeking out between the gaps between my fingers. The light was definitely subsiding, ebbing away, retreating back into the still spinning portal, out of which someone was clambering, a _small_ someone…

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the screeching, the shaking, the spinning, all stopped, leaving the room eerily silent, even the humming appeared to have subsided. But at that moment I couldn’t have cared less about it, for I was far too busy staring ahead at me, into the narrow face of the blond, bespectacled young man who had just strode neatly out of that ungodly mess of light and noise, as if he’d done nothing more than step over a pothole in the road.

With his heels placed firmly together, he bowed deeply to me, one hand held neatly at his chest, the other behind his back as he spoke in a clear, crisp accent that reminded me strongly of my time spent in the West.

“Master Attendant, hello, I am _Pudding._ If there is any work to be done in the future, I’ll handle it without hesitation."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

Pudding, as it eventually turned out, would go on to become a complete pain in my ass.

“I have to say,” he said crisply to me, as he bent over Mister Pan’s desk to sign his part of the contract with little to no hesitation, “I didn’t think I’d be your _only_ Food Soul, Master Attendant. Restaurants normally require three members of staff at the very least in order to function properly, are you quite sure we’ll be alright?”

I couldn’t have given him an answer even if I’d wanted to; after everything that had happened, my tongue seemed to have glued itself to the roof of my mouth. 

Olivia ended up answering for me, though whether it was out of kindness or impatience, I wasn’t sure.

“It’ll only be a little restaurant, Pudding, I’m sure you and your Master will manage. No one is expecting you to make piles of gold, after all, just enough to keep everything running.”

“I should hope so,” He replied, pushing his now completed contract across the table towards Mister Pan, who turned to slip it into a handsome, black file, “I would be ever so embarrassed to have to destroy our contract because we cannot even keep a _small_ establishment running.”

Needless to say, our first encounter left me with a rather bad taste in my mouth.

-

With a set of silver keys jingling merrily in my hand, all it took were a few twists in the old lock to send the worn wooden door before me swinging open, revealing my brand new restaurant.  
While it was nothing special just yet – with its massive, barren dining space and its chairs and tables propped up in stacks against the wall – it was still the best chance I had at making a living for myself, and I couldn’t help but smile faintly at the sight.

Until Pudding came bustling up behind me that is.

“It’ll be awfully cramped in here when things bet busy,” he warned, striding past me into the gloomy space, wiping a slender finger along a dusty windowsill and wincing at the sight, “very cramped, perhaps _too_ cramped for us to move about properly. Unless of course we knock down the amount of seats we have available, but that may hurt business. Tricky, very tricky indeed.”

“Are you done?” I asked wearily, it was the first real sentence I’d said to him. “It’s not perfect, but we have to start somewhere. Lets just make do with what we have, okay, um… _Parfait?”_

“My name is _Pudding!”_ He corrected me waspishly, drawing himself up to his full height – which wasn’t much; he only really had a few inches on me. “Really, Master Attendant, I shall endeavour not to speak ill of you to anyone, but you don’t seem to have the best memory, perhaps keeping a notebook on hand would help?”

“You little…”

But Pudding was spared the heat of my temper by the arrival of Olivia, who – after one, brief look around the restaurant – began to speak again, that awful, _official_ tone back in her voice.

“Here you are then, Noyabrina! It isn’t much, but I’ve seen previous Cooking Attendants such as you make handsome livings using this space. Now, I know you’re off to a very slow start, so I’ve arranged for a few deliveries to be made here throughout the day. It’ll be mostly food, so mind you wash your hands before you handle any of it, but there will also be a few cleaning supplies so you can brighten the place up a little, getting some fresh air in would probably help too.”

“Too right it would,” I agreed, as Pudding sneezed loudly and obnoxiously behind me, our arrival had kicked up quite a considerable amount of dust, “um, Olivia? This place has lodgings, right? Only I’m not too keen on the idea of sleeping under a table.”

Olivia eyed me disapprovingly, and I felt a twinge of annoyance in my stomach yet again. Was it even _possible_ for her to smile?

“Indeed there are lodgings,” she said, pointing off to my left where, upon turning, I could see a set of wooden stairs leading up to a second floor, “from what I remember there are three small bedrooms and one bathroom up there, your kitchen is straight on, and your supply rooms to the right of that. I can’t remember if there’s an office or not, but I daresay you could make something out of your room if you’re organised enough.”

“Right,” I replied, sucking in a breath through my teeth, trying my hardest not to let the sheer size of this herculean task completely overwhelm me, “thanks, Olivia, really thank you. For giving me a chance despite me messing everything up for you.”

“It’s quite alright,” Olivia insisted, though there was something in her voice that hinted to me that it wasn’t, “I just hope that you can bring some life back into this place. It’s a lovely restaurant with the right people running it, the previous owners had the right idea, they set up a sort of food plus entertainment business, it _raked_ in the gold, they were practically swimming in it.”

“Entertainment, huh?” I repeated, but another question had occurred to me. “But, surely if they were so successful here, why did they leave? This place looks like it hasn’t been used in months, _years_ even.”

There was a pause, in which Olivia pursed her lips, and all of a sudden the room seemed to grow colder, quieter, even Pudding stopped his rummaging behind me, and now stood stock still, almost to attention. 

“That actually reminds me of some invaluable advice I’ve been meaning to give you,” Olivia said coolly, taking a few steps back towards the front of the restaurant, “see here? All of the doors and windows in this building have bolts on them, heavy bolts. Of course, it should be common sense to you that you would lock them before sleeping, they’re good for keeping out burglars, but they aren’t so good at stopping… _Other_ intruders, chances are that in those cases, they’ll only be a temporary obstacle before it is too late.”

I stood staring at her, my eyes darting between the locks she’d indicated on the doors and windows. My mind still wasn’t functioning as well as it usually did, but even then it didn’t take me long to figure out what she was implying. Wide-eyed and shivering slightly, I spoke.

“You mean the… T-The last owners. They…”

“I would advise you to lock up _everything_ here the second it gets dark,” Olivia interrupted, her finger running the length of a bolt solemnly, “even if you have customers, if they know what’s good for them, they’ll understand. Do not tempt fate, Noyabrina, or I may find myself repeating this exact same advice to the next Cooking Attendant who sets up shop here, only in more full force. Do you understand?”

A very nasty pause followed her words, during which the only things I could hear were my own breathing, the slight shuffling of Pudding’s feet behind me, and the distant sound of the bustle and rumble of people going about their business outside. 

“Y-Yeah, yeah I… I get it.” I said, disturbed to hear just how choked my voice had become. “Thanks. Thanks, Olivia, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good, make sure that you do.” Olivia nodded, turning to leave. “You have a real chance at making something great here, Nonna, please don’t be careless and destroy that chance. Oh, one more thing before I go, when you start serving here, there are some uniforms stored upstairs in the second bedroom that you’ll need to wear. You can’t go around serving customers in your casual clothes, reputation is important here, as I’ve said.”

With that, she departed, leaving me with a horrible sense of nausea brewing in my stomach, mingling around with the ache that was now surely here to stay.

-

True to Olivia’s word, deliveries did come, but not until after midday, by which time Pudding and I had done our best to sweep up the floor with a few old brooms we’d found in one of the bedrooms, as well as begun to set up the tables and chairs left stacked up at the sides of the room.

Their arrival couldn’t have been timed better, as by the afternoon I was damn close to sweeping _Pudding_ out of the door with the dust and grime too. There were only so many snide comments about my ability to run a restaurant that I could take, and the fact that my stomach continued to squirm and ache wasn’t helping matters.

I’d just begun to consider if a rag and a bit of water would be enough to clear some of the filth off of the table tops, when a call came from the door, once again in that strange language Zhouyun had used the day she’d met me. Turning, I saw two people standing in the doorway, their arms laden with dozens upon dozens of brown bags. As it turned out, their contents varied from raw potatoes, an assortment of condiments such as salt and pepper, the odd strip of cured meat and – mercifully – cleaning supplies.

“You are new here, yes?” One of the deliverymen asked me with a grin, which I returned, made all the more easier by the sight of Pudding struggling to haul the majority of the bags onto the nearest table, his normally cool and collected demeanour completely gone. 

“I wish you very good luck, hm?” The other man said in far more accented English, nodding his head cheerily. “Working here is hard, so spend any earned money carefully and, please, please, please, do _not_ wander around after dark.”

Once they’d left, I realised that there was a massive part of me that simply longed to sit down and tuck in to some of the food they’d left for us, but there was another part that knew my stomach – still painful and writhing – just wasn’t up to handling anything solid, and it would most likely be brought back up onto the newly swept floor before it had even had a chance to go down.  
So, as the day wore on, Pudding and I worked in stony silence, continuing to clean up the furniture and set each piece neatly around the restaurant, before travelling upstairs to the second floor. We then set about making up our beds for the night, removing the protective covers and changing the old sheets for a few sets of musty linen we found in each of our wardrobes. As we worked, my stomach-ache gradually grew worse and worse, the pain peaking as I eventually found the uniforms Olivia had mentioned, and realised soon after, that I was doomed to work in what was undoubtedly a dead man’s clothing. 

Unfortunately, this silence – however uncomfortable it may have been – didn’t last long. As darkness fell, and it became increasingly hard to see our work, Pudding reached out to turn on the lights in the dining room, only to find the light bulbs blown and useless.

“Oh honestly.” He sighed, setting down the cloth he’d been cleaning the windows with. “No lights. Did you not think to check if they worked when we came in? This place has been uninhabited for quite some time, Master Attendant, how are we supposed to continue our work in the dark like this?”

I merely stared at him, my brow furrowed and the grip on my own cloth tightening ever so slightly. How on earth he’d managed to turn this particular problem around on me, I had no idea, but I was tired, sickly and achy, and I was ready to fight my corner.

“I do apologise, Pudding, but I had far more _pressing_ matters on my mind when we first arrived. Besides, we have running water and a working cooker, don’t we? I just assumed that the lights would work too.”

“Don’t assume. Assuming never got anyone anywhere, Attendant,” Pudding retorted, shaking his head, “honestly, do you know nothing of working in an establishment like this? I know you’d never worked with a Food Soul before, but most Cooking Attendants have already had a career in the culinary arts before coming to a place like Tierra!”

“Practice what you preach,” I said icily, my eyes narrowing, “don’t _assume.”_

There was a pause, in which we simply glared at each other, the light of the streetlamps outside reflected in Pudding’s glasses, making him look oddly threatening, until…

“I can’t believe this,” he sighed, shaking his head, his arms folded tightly, “I simply cannot believe this. There I am, out of service for _months_ on end, waiting for employment, and when I’m finally summoned, my new Attendant has absolutely no idea how to run a restaurant! Does the Guild even think before hiring people nowadays? Have things really gotten so bad that they’re taking anyone they can find, regardless of experience? It’s a laughing stock, a complete laughing stock.”

“Well, you know what, then?” I asked sharply, my voice finally rising in volume, every ounce of pent up frustration suddenly rising like an angry torrent of water. “You don’t _have_ to work for me! You can waltz out this door right now, what’s stopping you?”

“Our _contract!”_ Pudding exclaimed, his hands rose up above his head in what appeared to be sheer frustration. “You were _there!_ you saw me sign it! That contract binds us together as Attendant and Food Soul, I am in your service until said contract is terminated! Haven’t you been paying attention to _anything_ today?”

“Destroy our contract then! See if I care!” I shouted, my voice reverberating around the near deserted restaurant, my hand gesturing furiously towards the open front door. “If it’s really _so_ painful for you to be the service of someone as inexperienced as me, just go! I think I’d rather go through the trouble of summoning some other Food Soul if it means I don’t have to put up with you! You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side since you climbed out of that wretched portal!”

Another ugly silence fell upon the room, so dense and so complete that it almost took my breath away, but I didn’t care, I was angrier than I’d been in a long time, and at that moment I almost pitied Pudding if he thought antagonising me further was a good idea.

Then…

“Alright! Have it your way!” He exclaimed, throwing down his still damp cleaning cloth with a ‘slap’, and stalking towards the door. “Never, in all my years of service have I met someone as… As… Bad tempered as you! As ignorant as you! No, as _contentedly_ ignorant as you! I wish you luck running this establishment, Master Attendant, but as of right now, consider our contract terminated! You’ve already given me your permission to do so after all.”

With that, he was gone; the cleaning cloth tossed onto the floor the only indicator that he’d ever been there.

I swore at the top of my voice, kicking a table leg as I stormed over to the abandoned cloth, snatching it up and continuing to clean the windows as best I could. It seemed almost automatic, and if truth be told, I wasn’t even aware of how well I was clearing away the grime, for my whole head was boiling with rage. Who the Hell did he think he was? What was his problem? 

Still blind with fury, I tore back across the room to resume cleaning the table I’d abandoned, angry thoughts running around my head, racing each other almost. What was I going to tell Olivia? That I’d had a shouting match with my first Food Soul and now I’d need a replacement? I couldn’t imagine her accepting that, so then perhaps she would force Pudding and I to work together.

Over my dead body, unless he was willing to give me a chance.

God, my stomach fucking _hurt._

The darkness outside soon became complete, but I continued to work, almost out of spite, using what little light I had from the streetlamps opposite to see what I was doing. The minutes ticked by, second by second.

Then, quite suddenly, I became aware of something moving by the front door. 

Still with that pit of anger bubbling in my aching stomach, I glanced to the side. There appeared to be a rather tall man lingering in the door, pausing, waiting to come in perhaps?

“I’m closed, _damnit.”_ I growled at him, shoving a few chairs under the table I’d been working on. “Can’t you see that? The place has no lights and it sure as hell doesn’t have any food, so do me a favour and get…”

I broke off, my words dying in my throat as well as my anger, replaced instead by a growing wave of sickening dread. The ‘man’ had stepped closer into the shop in the time it had taken me to speak, slowly, lethargically, almost as if he were stumbling, but as he moved, I slowly began to realise that this was no man at all, not even close.   
Frozen beside the table, I gazed, horrified, up into the four giant, bulging eyes that had fixed themselves upon me. The _thing_ that had stumbled its way into my restaurant appeared to be just as clumsy in the dark as I was, but in a far more dangerous, destructive way.

Growling lowly in the back of its throat, it moved its huge, bulbous body though the carefully arranged tables and chairs Pudding and I had set up, sending them toppling over with a horrid clatter of wood on wood, it didn’t seem to care about its surroundings, preferring instead to focus entirely on getting to me.

This was a Fallen, this was one of the wretched creatures who had laid such casual waste to everything I’d known of my home.

Shaking like a leaf in the wind, I backed away, my breathing quickening as the creature mirrored my speed, its stubby feet thudding dully against the floor, its growling growing louder and more insistent as it drew closer.

“G-Get away…!” I choked out, my brain whirring desperately, trying to figure a way out, thinking of how best to fight the Fallen, all the while cursing myself for _leaving the door open after dark._

“Get away from me! Go! **Go!** Get out! Get out _now!”_

It didn’t listen, in fact, my words only seemed to make it angrier. Snarling horribly, it lunged towards me, its hands outstretched, it was only thanks to the weight of its own body slowing it down that I managed to dive out of its away. Hissing with pain as my head collided with the edge of a table, I scrambled about, looking desperately for a way to escape, but in the time it took me to gather myself up again, the thing was upon me, that horrid snarling filling my ears.

I screamed then, thrashing wildly underneath it, terror coursing through my veins as it continued to growl, its eyes still fixed unblinkingly on my face. All I could do was panic… I was going to die here – I realised through the panic – I was going to die, despite my efforts, despite all I’d done, despite the sacrifices the people I loved had made to get me here, despite Zhouyun and Olivia’s advice, I had fallen at the first hurdle after all. How foolish they all were to believe in me, this thing knew _exactly_ where to strike, it knew exactly how to kill me, it seemed that all I could do was struggle, and struggle, and struggle…

**BOOM.**

A golden light, far, far brighter than the ones outside suddenly blasted through the windows and into the old restaurant, illuminating the tables and chairs that had been thrown aside in the Fallen’s wake. Completely stunned by the flash, I barely registered the horrid screech that sounded above me, nor the cacophony of movement as it bolted away from me, hissing and spitting with rage.

Slowly falling back down to earth, I hauled myself up into a sitting position, my tired brain struggling to make sense of what I was seeing. Numb from shock, I watched, confused as Pudding, his hand held high in the air, sent another stream of blazing golden light raining down upon the unfortunate Fallen, who shrieked with fury and pain, lurching as best it could towards him, but it was too late.

His face stricken with concentration, Pudding stepped back, a ball of pulsing light slowly swelling between his hands, growing larger and larger until a last he thrust it towards the oncoming Fallen. The effect was instantaneous, and if I hadn’t been on the brink of passing out, I would’ve thought it quite spectacular.  
Upon contact, the ball burst open with an explosion of light, showering the unfortunate Fallen with a boiling golden liquid, the intensity of the heat bringing it to its knees with an unmistakable moan of pain. Completely stunned and covered in burns, it slowly keeled over onto its side, its eyes rolling in its head, leaving the room deathly quiet, and filled with the subtle smell of burning caramel.  
Wide eyed, I watched silently as the fallen slowly dissolved away, its huge body disintegrating into a steaming puddle, before even that evaporated, leaving nothing but a cloud of foul-smelling gas floating in the air, eventually evaporating into nothing, as if it had never even been there.

-

“I made you a baked potato, I know it probably isn’t wise to use up the food we were given so hastily, but you need to eat, Master Attendant.”

I stared numbly down at the plate set down neatly in front of me, trying and failing to ignore how my stomach squirmed and rumbled at the sight of it. It was ever so nice of Pudding to make me something to eat after everything that had been said and done between us, but I still didn’t feel up to eating anything.

“No, no it’s fine,” I said, gently pushing the plate back towards him, “thank you, Pudding but you can have it, I’m not hungry.”

“With all due respect, Attendant, you narrowly escaped being killed,” Pudding said sternly, not even sparing the food a glance, “honestly, I’m surprised you weren’t injured, what with the size of that Fallen, I would’ve expected a scratch or a bruise or, something… But there isn’t a mark on you, you’re extraordinarily lucky, but you _have_ to eat, even if you don’t feel like it.”

He was right, I knew he was right, I couldn’t go without food forever, but perhaps when I brought it all up again into the sink he’d understand a little better. Reluctantly, I pulled the plate back towards me, scooped up a forkful of the fluffy potato and took a tentative bite. It was surprisingly comforting, the feeling of warmth it gave me paired with the delicious hint of butter wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d feared, but after a few more bites, I felt it, that tell-tale ache in my throat, the sensation of something trying to claw its way out of my body.

But the rush of nausea I’d expected never came, instead, my lips trembled, my eyes welled with tears, and I soon realised that the ache in my throat hadn’t been an urge to vomit at all. Before I could stop myself, I had doubled over the kitchen counter, hands over my face and my body shaking with furious sobs, tears leaking through my fingers onto the wood below.  
Beside me, I faintly heard Pudding sigh, and a hand on the small of my quivering back followed soon after.

“There, there,” he said, in a surprisingly understanding tone of voice, “I had a feeling this was coming, cry as much as you need to, just promise to finish the potato when you’re done, alright? You’re clearly in need of sustenance.” 

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for me to regain some control of myself, though tears still brimmed up in my eyes and slid down my cheeks, I was able to carry on eating. Even though I was sure I must’ve looked an absolute mess, Pudding didn’t leave, preferring instead to make sure I ate everything before taking back my plate.

“Better?” He asked, eyebrows raised a little.

“Y-Yeah,” I replied, still wiping away the odd tear, my eyes burning, “much, much better. Thanks, Pudding, really, n-not just for the potato but for coming back too, I know you don’t want to work for me.”

“I believe I owe you an apology there,” the Food Soul replied, placing the empty plate neatly in the sink, “I… May have been too hard on you, perhaps judged you unfairly as well. Plenty of Cooking Attendants like you start from scratch, I suppose I was just a little nervous, not that that excuses my behaviour, but… It’s something, so for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“It’s worth a lot, trust me,” I replied, finally cracking a smile, though the muscles in my face felt oddly stiff, “I’m sorry too, so are you willing to give this a fair shot, then?”

“Of course!” He exclaimed, as if the idea of leaving again was ridiculous. “There’s no harm in trying, after all. It’s like you said, Master Attendant, we just have to make do with what we…”

Pudding paused suddenly, his golden eyes drawn to the kitchen window, which looked out onto the grounds outside of the restaurant, I’d only spared the view a glance or two, but said glances had been long enough to see that we were bordering a forest, a forest that seemed suspiciously like the one I’d found myself in when I first arrived in Tierra.

“… There’s something moving out there,” he said sharply, leaning closer to the window, “there! Can you see?”

I leaned over with him, eyes fixed on where he pointed, and with a horrible lurch, I realised that he was right. Through the small gaps in the trees, something _huge_ was lurking, its silhouette illuminated ever so slightly by the moon, but the light just wasn’t enough for me to make out any facial features. As I continued to squint however, the figure vanished, leaving nothing behind but a sense of dread coiling in the pit of my stomach.

“Master Attendant,” Pudding spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the window, “I heard from Madam Olivia, that you had encountered a Fallen upon your arrival in Gloriville, yes?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” I replied, turning to face him, “why?”

“I should ask you please to take this with a pinch of salt,” he continued, “and that I may be entirely wrong when I say this, but… If the Fallen who attacked you left you alive, that implies that it wants something from you, and that it has ulterior motives other than just killing you.”

Silence fell again, one so deep and so complete that I felt as if I may drown in it.

“From that, we can conclude,” Pudding began, mercifully breaking the horrid silence, “that for whatever reason, _something_ is trying to study you.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

The following morning, I found myself rather abruptly woken by what sounded horribly like a cat yowling outside. My brain was still far too muddled with sleep to think about anything but more sleep, so I turned over in my bed, squashing my thin pillow around my head with an irritable grumble, trying my best to block out the noise. Really, after everything that had happened the previous night, I needed all the sleep I could get.  
A few moments passed, in which the noise showed no signs of letting up, so I cast a quick, blurry glance over at the sky through the dusty glass of my bedroom window. It was a deep blue speckled with pink and adorned with wisps of thin, white clouds, telling me that it was still very early, the sun hadn’t even properly risen yet. 

For Christ’s sake, what the hell was making that _din_ at this ungodly hour? 

To my dismay, any chances of falling back asleep despite the wailing outside were ruined by a sudden and sharp knock on my door.

“Whaaaaaat?” I groaned, not bothering to move.

“Good morning to you too, Master.” Came Pudding’s apathetic voice, slightly muffled through the wood. “Can you hear that dreadful noise? It woke me up, I thought at first that it may have been in my dream, but in fact it appears to be coming from somewhere a few streets down from us. Peculiar, very peculiar indeed.”

Grudgingly, I let him in, resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep for now. Fortunately, he’d been kind enough to make us a pot of tea, which he brought in on a large tray laden with an old tea set I’d uncovered from the kitchen yesterday.

“Those delivery gentlemen were kind enough to leave us a box of green tea.” He said pleasantly, as I took a grateful sip from my little ceramic cup, a smile on my face as I was reminded of the cups Zhouyun had used. Pudding sat beside my bed, looking for all intents and purposes as if he were at peace with the world, his golden eyes soft, but whether it was from sleep or content, I couldn’t tell.

“It’s not what I’m used to at all, but I’m not complaining.” He went on, apparently keen to keep up conversation after the spat we’d had yesterday. “Any tea is good to warm one’s hands in chilly weather like this, wouldn’t you agree? It’s due to get far colder in the coming weeks, we should make a trip to the market to buy warmer clothes, scarves and the like, I’ll make a note of it.”

As we drank, chatting idly about other such mundane things, the wailing outside continued on, yet the longer I listened, the more I began to wonder if it really was wailing at all.

“I think that’s someone _singing,_ you know, Pudding,” I mused, draining my cup of its last dregs, “horribly out of tune singing, yes, but it definitely has some sort of rhythm to it, don’t you think so?”

“Not in the slightest,” Pudding replied crisply, placing his own empty cup back onto the tray, “I hope that whoever this so-called singer is, they aren’t planning on caterwauling like this every morning, this is far too early even for a Cooking Attendant to be going about their business. Anyway, you’d best get up, Master, we still have a few more things to set up before we can start serving customers.”

-

So, set up we did, finishing up the tables, checking that the gas, water and electricity were still working, as well as doing our best to shake out the wrinkles in our uniforms. But out of all our tasks, our most important one ended up being to fix the lights in the dining room, which was made all the easier by a box of spare light bulbs found in one of the numerous kitchen cupboards.

“There, are you happy now?” I asked Pudding with a grin, after making quick work of screwing in the new bulbs and flicking the switch a few times to make sure they all worked. 

“Quite.” He sniffed, arms folded tightly, but there was perhaps the faintest hint of a smile on his face too, I had to say that the atmosphere between us had definitely grown warmer since the arrival of the Fallen the previous night. Though a near-death experience was a rather peculiar thing to bond over, I certainly wasn't complaining, in this unfamiliar place, I needed all the friends I could make.

By the time the sun had fully risen, I could safely say that the restaurant was finally beginning to look like just that – a restaurant. As hopeless as everything had seemed to me last night, now that I looked around the spotless room, laden with neatly set tables and chairs, I could imagine myself making a comfortable living for myself here. My good mood must’ve been infectious, for Pudding – ever insistent that no breaks should be taken until _all_ the work was done – untied his apron with a sigh and fell into one of the nearby chairs, his golden eyes gleaming with triumph.

“We should be bustling with customers in no time at all,” he said confidently, “just look at this place. It has a real rustic feel to it, doesn’t it? It’s full of potential. All we have to do now is spread the message that I make the _best_ baked potatoes in Gloriville and then…”

But his self-praise was rather abruptly and loudly interrupted both by my own derisive snorting, and then the almighty bang of the restaurant door flying open. Stunned momentarily by the noise, I glanced around, mouth slightly agape, only to find myself suddenly swept up into someone’s embrace, a familiar, frantic voice filling my ears.

“Nonna! Oh, Gods above, Nonna! _You’re alright!_ You’re alright… I heard, you see, from the Watchdog, that a flurry of Fallen Angels had attacked the buildings along your street last night! I was so worried about you!”

“Hi… Zhouyun,” I replied somewhat dazedly, patting the woman on the back and trying not to snort at the utterly scandalised look Pudding was giving me, “I’m alright, seriously I am, one of them managed to break in, but Pudding here was…”

“You!” Zhouyun cried shrilly, releasing me and rounding on Pudding, who looked as if he were ready to activate his powers again, before he was trapped in a bone-crushing hug himself. “Oh – _bless_ you Magic Souls! Whatever would we do without you?”

Thoroughly amused yet slightly touched, I glanced around to the door to see that Yuxiang had arrived too, though she was quite visibly hanging back from her rather hysterical Attendant, a faint smile on her perfect face, she looked – if possible – even Godlier than before with the sunlight streaming in behind her.  
Thankfully, Zhouyun’s torrent of emotion didn’t last long, and soon we found ourselves seated around one of the larger tables, another simmering pot of tea provided by a still very disgruntled Pudding set out in front of us.

“I should’ve warned you, I actually said this to Yuxiang when you left.” Zhouyun said tragically, her face still stricken with what I could only assume was worry, despite Pudding and myself being absolutely fine. “That the Fallen have been out of control recently, something has definitely been stirring them up! I remember, we went out of town last month to explore some of the catacombs just outside of Nevras, and let me tell you, the _noises_ we heard in there!”

She shuddered, so violently that the tea she had in her hand almost slopped out of its cup.

“They were almost **demonic** in nature. Screams and bangs and _wailing…_ Dreadful, absolutely awful! Only the Gods know what… What _thing_ could’ve made such horrific sounds!”

“Don’t stress yourself so, Master Attendant,” Yuxiang said softly, placing a hand on Zhouyun’s arm, she at least seemed completely unperturbed by the creatures in the catacombs, “it isn’t good for your nerves. The Fallen will quieten down with time, and we must remember that the ones in the catacombs rarely stray out of it. So I daresay we won’t have to worry about whatever is causing the disturbance there, unless it goes to the trouble of travelling all the way to Gloriville.”

“This tea sure is nice, huh?” I ventured quietly, hoping to gently steer the conversation away from the Fallen, just the thought of them made my still tender stomach churn. I could only hope that Yuxiang was right, and that whatever they’d heard in the catacombs stayed put. But I’d decided that morning that today was going to be a better day, no matter how awful I felt throughout. Not thinking about my predicament was surely the best way to get used to it.

“Um. Pudding? I don’t suppose I could trouble you for some more hot water, could I?”

“Of course.” He replied briskly, getting to his feet. “But I think you should find out all you can about the Fallen, Master Attendant, what with everything that has happened to you.”

With that, he marched away in his characteristic manner, leaving Zhouyun to placate herself with hurried sips of tea, Yuxiang however, seemed curious.

“’What with everything that has happened to you’?” She repeated, a shaped eyebrow raised as she surveyed me, making me feel – quite unpleasantly – as if I were in a doctor’s office.

“Oh, we…” I trailed off, wondering how best to describe the huge, shadowy, hulking figure Pudding and I had seen lurking about between the trees last night. “Saw another Fallen in the forests out back, a-after the first one came in. Now he seems to think that they’re trying to _study_ me. I’m sure that things are nowhere near as serious as he’s making it out to be, as far as I’ve seen, the only thing on a Fallen’s mind is how many humans it can kill, they’re not out to study them.”

There was a pause, in which Pudding soon returned with the hot water I’d asked for, but rather than looking reassured, Yuxiang’s expression didn’t change, and she continued to stare at me, her amber eyes gleaming oddly. That was until the silence was broken once again by the sound of the grating ‘singing’ floating in from outside. Thankfully this seemed to distract Yuxiang, and she glanced around at the noise, a faint smile growing on her face.

“Oh! For the love of all that is Holy,” Pudding grumbled, setting down his teacup with a sharp clatter, causing a still nervous Zhouyun to jump in her chair, “enough with this racket! We’ve heard nothing but that awful noise all morning! Yuxiang, I don’t suppose you have any of idea what it could be, could you? I know you’ve been here for far longer than I.”

Yuxiang didn’t reply, not at first, apparently too distracted with listening to the sound floating in through the door. But after a while, she swivelled her head back around, fixing Pudding with a frosty stare that was quite unlike her, even _I_ found myself leaning back a little and gulping down my tea as quickly as possible in case a full-scale argument should break out.

“That ‘awful noise’,” she said coldly, “happens to be a dear friend of mine.”  
-

Needless to say that from then on, the conversation was extremely limited until Zhouyun and a still clearly displeased Yuxiang took their leave, with Zhouyun making endless recommendations to me about how to ward off the Fallen, all while forcing a small bag of gold into my hand, which I tried my very hardest to refuse.

“You haven’t even a _smidge_ of gold to your name!” She cried woefully, shaking her head. “Please, Nonna, this business is a cruel one, especially if you’ve had no previous experience. At least let me give you a start, a little token! You’ve had such a rotten time what with the Fallen attacking you here there and everywhere, what a pity I didn’t bring… Ah, no, no matter, I’ll bring it around for you tonight. You just concentrate on making your customers happy for now, I’ll see you both later!”

Despite my continued insistence that I simply couldn’t keep on draining her resources like this, I was left with the gold in my hand and a burning feeling of shame sitting uncomfortably in my chest yet again. Really, what on earth had I done to warrant such kind behaviour from a woman I’d only known for a few days?  
However, as I got to work drawing up our rather limited menu on a little chalkboard to set outside the shop, I managed to comfort myself with the thought of success, with the thought of finally making a living here. After all, the second I started making money, the closer I’d be to paying Zhouyun back one day, and after a while, the burning eventually dissipated. 

With the last prices for the baked potatoes, crispy bacon potato skins and roasted pork belly finally decided, I stood back to admire my handiwork, noting – with some satisfaction – that no other shops along the street seemed to have their chalkboards out. It didn’t seem like a very sound business practice to me, what with how Olivia had talked about the clientele, in fact I’d been afraid of just how competitive a neighbourhood I’d moved into. 

Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

I was just about to head back in to ask Pudding whether or not sketching out a few floral patterns around the menu’s border would make it more endearing to customers, when a voice called out behind me, once again in that strange language I kept hearing in and around Gloriville.  
Turning abruptly, I saw two people heading up the sloping street towards me, panting slightly from the climb and the weight of two huge canvas bags strapped to their backs. They made quite a peculiar pair, one; a dark-skinned boy of average height, dressed in a neatly tailored waistcoat, matching trousers, and a small hat stashed under his arm, the other; a taller, brunette woman clad in a plain shirt and blue jeans. Side by side, they couldn’t have been more different, the boy at least seemed to have made some effort in what he wore, but his companion was quite unremarkable, and looked as if she’d thrown on the first things she’d laid eyes on that morning.

As they drew closer, the woman – who had been the one to call out to me – looked a little puzzled for a moment or so, before she gave a bright, beaming smile that seemed to light up her whole face, and suddenly I found myself feeling a little guilty for having thought of her as unremarkable.

“English, then?” She called again, though there was little need for her to shout now, she was barely ten feet away from me. “Sorry. Never know which people are speaking what language around here anymore. Ooh! Potato skins, huh? Are you guys open? I’m bloody starving!”

Her accent was one that I’d never heard before, it sounded a little like Pudding’s, only a tad more musical, and her tone couldn’t seem to decide between a higher and a lower pitch, preferring instead to mediate between the two, it was ever so strange to me.  
But really, at the end of the day I wasn’t all that worried about her accent, as I realised with mounting excitement that these were my very first guests! Straightening myself up and putting on my warmest smile, I gestured towards the open door.

“English is just fine, and we certainly are open! You two are actually my first customers, so please make yourself at home.”

“Well, fancy that! We’ve never been this far up here before, so I’m glad to hear that I’ll be supporting someone new!” The woman replied cheerily, finally coming to a halt beside my door, swaying a little where she stood, it was clear that the backpack she carried was causing her quite a bit of trouble. Her companion however, who seemed to be carrying twice as much, didn’t even budge, and merely gazed across at the restaurant’s bare windows, his bright blue eyes devoid of emotion.

I wasn’t quite sure how, or _when_ I’d even begun to notice subtle differences between them and humans, but somehow I now had no trouble identifying this boy as yet another Food Soul. 

-

Pudding had been busy and out of sight in the kitchen the last time I’d been inside the restaurant, even though we’d hardly been together longer than a day, I’d started to notice that he didn’t much like just sitting around. Perhaps he needed to stay up and in motion, which was perfectly understandable, I did too and it was nice to know that maybe he was also trying to take his mind off of things. In a strange and rather unhealthy way, I was almost grateful for the Fallen’s attack the previous night; it had certainly taken my mind off of everything I’d left back home, and the horrible pressure of adapting to change.  
As I showed our first guests in, however, Pudding came tearing out of the kitchen as if he’d been waiting specifically for this moment, tying his dark green apron hurriedly around his waist as he went. All I could do was stand and watch, thoroughly bemused.

“Hello and welcome!” He said sharply, producing a smart, leather-backed notebook from absolutely nowhere. “You have the honour of being our very first guests! May I take your orders?”

Wincing slightly at the almost robotic way in which he spoke, I spared a worried glance towards the woman, only to find her grinning broadly, apparently quite entertained by the way Pudding rattled off his greeting, as if he’d rehearsed it a thousand times over. Her Food Soul on the other hand, looked a tad alarmed, which was easily the most emotion I’d seen on his face since his arrival, but it seemed that he and I were both thinking exactly the same thing. That for all of his skill at organisation, Pudding certainly wasn’t the best at customer service. 

“You’re not a drill sergeant, you know,” I said to him carefully, after seating my guests at a table near to the window and excusing myself into the kitchen, which, due to Pudding’s work, finally seemed to have had some life breathed into it, “I can take orders and then relay them back to you in the future, if you’d prefer that?”

“Don’t be silly, Master Attendant,” he replied shortly, drizzling oil into a pan and firing up the flame beneath it, “I cannot just lurk in the kitchen the whole time! I have to be a real team player, what good am if… What’s the matter?”

He turned, confused, noticing a little too late that I’d backed away from the stove, eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the flame dancing merrily beneath the pan, though the emotions it stirred within me were the very opposite of merry.

“S’fine,” I muttered, though it wasn’t, “I just… Don’t like fire.”

There was a pause, in which Pudding simply stared at me, mouth slightly agape, a hand frozen on the handle of the pan. He seemed to be caught in some kind of horrified trance, one that was only broken when a fleck of hot oil spat out of the pan and onto his wrist, causing him to flinch a little.

“But… How can you b… You’re a _Cooking Attendant!”_ He exclaimed, wiping his affected wrist on the front of his apron. “Master, forgive me, but cooking tends to involve quite a lot of fire! How can you expect to do this job properly if you don’t like the very element you depend upon?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said bluntly, retrieving two glasses and a water jug from one of the upper cupboards, “don’t worry about it, Pudding, just focus on getting some food out, our guests are starving.”

Ignoring Pudding’s panicked spluttering, and the uncomfortable prickling that had started to dance up and down my back, I filled up the jug with water and marched out into the dining area again, my insides squirming with embarrassment. Luckily, my two guests hadn’t heard the exchange, and were instead pondering over what appeared to be a large and very detailed map that they’d spread out across their table. I could hear them talking to one another in hushed voices, and, thinking that perhaps they didn’t want to be disturbed or overheard, poured out their glasses at a different table, obsessively going over Pudding’s words again and again in my head.

It didn’t matter, I’d manage; I’d always managed at home…

“Oh hey! Is that for us?” That musical voice sounded once again, bringing me back to Earth with a bump. “Great, I’m dying of thirst here. Say, why don’t you join us? There’s no one else here after all, and your Food Soul seems to have everything handled in the kitchen.”

Knowing fully well that I’d be subjected to more scrutiny if I went back into the kitchen, I accepted her offer and soon pulled up a chair to sit with them, perhaps it was for the best, if I made a good impression on them, they’d surely tell the people they met about my restaurant.  
After a smattering of polite discussion, we found out each other’s names, with the woman introducing herself as Cooking Attendant Morag Bamber, and her Food Soul, in far quieter and more modest tones, insisting that I simply call him Brownie. The pair of them were indeed travelling up and out of Gloriville, which explained the huge amount of luggage they’d brought with them, though their destination was cause for both mine and eventually Pudding’s concern.

“The catacombs beneath the Nevras border?” He repeated, stunned, as he dished out two steaming plates of crispy bacon potato skins onto the table. “Are you quite sure that that's a good idea, Miss Attendant? Why, my Master and I were just talking about those very catacombs this morning with a colleague of ours, they don’t exactly sound like the safest place in the world to go.”

“Hah! Precisely!” Morag grinned, waving a forkful of bacon and potato in Pudding’s direction. “Brownie and I have heard a lot of talk about them too, we know perfectly well that there’s something royally nasty going on up there, don’t you worry about that. But did you know that there’s also a pretty handsome reward out for whoever puts a stop to it? Apparently, things have gotten so hectic for the residents living in the area that they’re willing to offer a hefty amount of gold for peace to be restored!”

Indeed we hadn’t, however it seemed a little odd to me that Zhouyun hadn’t mentioned the reward, though when I thought a little harder about it, I reasoned that someone as skitty and as protective as her probably didn’t want me carting myself and Pudding up to Nevras to face whatever was causing such a fuss.

“Now, I know what you’re both thinking,” Morag went on, her words slightly muffled as she continued to stuff forkfuls of food into her mouth, “you’re worried because there’s only Brownie and I, right? Well, have no fear! Brownie might be small, but he’s got a weapon that’s both almost as tall _and_ as wide as him! Go on, Brownie, show them your blaster, that’ll put their minds at ease.”

To my pleasant surprise, Brownie’s ‘blaster’, as Morag had called it, turned out to be a type of gun that I’d seen many times before; a large, revolving, Gatling-styled machine gun that bore the marks of being well-used yet well-loved. Since my arrival in Gloriville, I’d begun to assume that Food Souls just relied on their own magical powers to fight and defend themselves with, so seeing a familiar weapon like Brownie's in a place that was so different from what I was used to, was actually quite lovely.  
Brownie, stoic and quiet as he’d been since arriving at the restaurant, seemed to perk up a little at the interest paid to his weapon, and even offered to let Pudding and myself hold it if we would like. Pudding, true to form, flat-out refused with a jerky shake of his head, but I was incredibly eager to see how it all worked.

“Oof, it’s a lot heavier than I thought,” I lied as conversationally and as casually as I could in order to mask my true excitement, “does it not cause you trouble, Brownie? You’re not that much bigger than me after all, and it really is on the larger side.”

“I assure you, Miss Attendant, I’m quite used to it,” he said rather proudly, all the while showing me how to hold it properly, held alongside my hip, no doubt in order to reduce the strain on one’s arms, “there you are, that's right. Once you activate it to its full power, it is capable of firing four rounds in a row, all you need to know is how to aim it properly, and you have an incredibly powerful gun. I’ve had it take out multiple Fallen Angels at once before, it’s easily the best weapon I’ve ever had. Here, here, I’ll show you how you would fire it up, _theoretically_ of course, I don’t think you would appreciate me activating a gun like this in your restaurant.”

“He’s not exaggerating about the Fallen,” Morag laughed from the table, scraping the last bits of her potato skins up with relish, “I’ve seen him in action! It’s as if that great heavy thing isn’t even there, he moves about like it weighs nothing, absolutely mops the floor with anything in his way, he does. Can’t tell you how lucky I am to have a Soul like him.”

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, all the talk of Brownie’s weapon soon lead to another topic of conversation, then another, and another, and another, until I suddenly became aware of the unmistakable glow of sunset filtering in through the windows. I jerked around little in my chair to glance outside, both Morag and Brownie followed my gaze, the latter’s mouth twisting into a rather thin and displeased line.

“How long have we…” He began, but Morag got there first, and with a quick check of her wristwatch, she yelped.

“Good _God,_ we’ve been here for hours! Look, it’s almost dark out! Dear, dear, dear,” mumbling to herself, she got to her feet, hurriedly stuffing everything she’d brought out of her bag back into it, “I am so sorry, Noyabrina! We’ve probably done away with any other business you could’ve had today! What with how early the sun sets nowadays, winter’s a bloody horrible time of the year here.”

“It’s fine, really,” I insisted, though the prospect of having no more customers did cause my stomach to twist a little, I really had hoped for a more promising first day, and perhaps it was that twisting that prompted me to say, somewhat desperately, “you’ll tell people about us, won’t you, Morag?”

“Of course, of course, don’t be silly!” Morag cried, transferring a handful of gold into the front pocket of my apron and swinging her massive bag over her shoulders once again. “They were gorgeous potato skins, really! If you and your Puddin' keep on serving food like that, you’ll have no issues with money at all. Anyway, we won’t trouble you anymore tonight, but hopefully we’ll bump into each other again! C’mon, Brownie.”

With one, last friendly nod, Brownie obeyed and hastily followed his Master Attendant out into the street. With a sharp click, the door closed, silence fell, and with it came – once again – that horrible ache in my stomach. Resigned to the worst, I sank back into my chair and numbly began to count out the gold Morag had left me, the coins glinting in the light of the sunset streaming in through the shop windows.

“How much do we have? I think she left us a tip too.” Pudding said optimistically, leaning across to count with me, though even I could make out the anxious edge in his voice, it was clear that he’d been expecting more than two customers in today too. “We’re not running low on food stock just yet, but it never hurts to keep topping up.”

“I don’t really know how the currency works here in Gloriville,” I confessed suddenly, glancing up from my ‘counting’, eyes dull, “I’m not actually sure why I’m counting it.”

“Not to worry, not to worry, give it to me," Pudding insisted, gathering up the money into his hands, "I know how it works. I'll tell you what, Master, if you tidy up here and start to lock up for the night, I’ll make a trip down to the market and buy us some more ingredients for tomorrow, I think you could do with a scarf too, it’s chilly out there, and it’s only going to get colder, the winter here is bitter.”

I didn’t reply or protest, I wasn't sure that I had the energy to, the happy buzz that Morag and Brownie had brought in with them had completely vanished, leaving me feeling rather like I had the previous night, clueless and oddly empty. I wasn’t looking forward to spending another day like this, sitting about and waiting for customers to give our frankly basic food a chance, it hadn’t been something that I’d prepared myself for.

Thankfully, Pudding seemed to realise quickly that I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so instead he gathered up our earnings, folded and put away his apron in the kitchen and left without another word, though not before he’d given me an awkward pat on the back and an attempt at an understanding smile.  
I half wished that I’d asked to go with him, for the silence he left behind, along with the light growing dimmer and dimmer outside did little to improve the drop in my mood. I knew that I had to clean the dishes up, I knew that I had wipe down the tables and tidy up the equipment that had been used in the kitchen too, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The longer I sat there, watching as the shadows around me grew, and the streetlamps outside gradually flickered on, the worse I felt… However, at the back of my mind there was that nudge, a nag, the _urgency_ to bolt the doors and windows before the events of last night had the chance to repeat themselves, but I didn’t move, I merely stared at the unlocked door, almost daring another Fallen to step through.

Just you try it. Just you try to hurt me again, you foul… You _evil…_ I'll show you, I'll show you just who you're **fucking** with.

A knock came, so suddenly and so sharply that I almost cried out in shock, so lost in my own bitter thoughts that I hadn’t noticed the figure that had walked up to the door, but the voice that came with it soon put my nerves at ease.

“Nonna! Noyabrina? Are you home? It’s us again!”

 _Zhouyun,_ of course, hadn’t she mentioned bringing something else around? As I let her in, I had half a mind to remind her about the dangers of walking around at night on her own, until I noticed she’d brought Yuxiang with her, resplendent as always in a long red coat.  
Ruddy faced from the chill outside, Zhouyun immediately seized both of my shoulders, her dark eyes scanning me worriedly, I didn’t bother to change my expression and merely gazed back up at her, grim-faced.

“What’s the matter, my dear? You look ever so sad, did your first day not go well? How much did you make?”

“I don’t actually know,” I replied, shrugging a shoulder, “Pudding took it all and went down to the market so we could top up on supplies, we only got one customer today, so... Look, I’m alright, Zhouyun, really I am, I think I just need to get used to this place.”

Before I could protest or even say a single word more, I was steered back into my seat, Zhouyun’s arm now held snugly around my shoulders, Yuxiang made sure to close the door behind her, bolting it tightly shut, but standing beside it in case Pudding should return.

“I think,” Zhouyun began, rubbing a hand up and down my upper arm comfortingly, “that you need a bit of a pick me up, yes? Well, first of all, don’t worry about not getting many customers; new Cooking Attendants always start right at the bottom, in fact I’m impressed that you got even one customer today! You just need to keep at it and make a good impression on the patrons that you do get, I assure you that with time, you’ll be swimming in business. However, when that time comes, you’ll need some more help, which is where I come in, I’m sure you and Pudding will do just fine for now, but if you ever need to; please use these.”

I watched with some confusion and some apprehension as a canvas sack was set on the table before me, a bulging, smoking sack, much like the one Olivia had had with her yesterday.

“But… Those are…”

“Soul embers, yes, just enough for you to summon another Food Soul,” Zhouyun said kindly, “and I don’t want to hear any protesting, Nonna. I assure you that I am in no need of them, Yuxiang and I have ran our little business together for many years without ever needing an extra pair of hands. I’ve thought about it long and hard, and have come to the conclusion that your needs are far greater than mine in this case.”

I said nothing, how could I? That horrid, burning feeling of guilt was back again, steadily increasing in its intensity as I stared down at the sack in front of me. For one, horrifying moment I thought that I was going to cry again, as I felt my bottom lip give a tell-tale wobble, but thankfully this time I managed to pull myself back together. However, somewhere in amongst the mass of guilt and sadness, another feeling sat, a warmer one that flickered and sputtered weakly, like a light bulb just about to blow, but it remained nonetheless, the knowledge that no matter how dire my situation, Zhouyun was someone that I could always turn to. If she wanted to help me and see both my business and I thrive so dearly, refusing her kindness was no way to repay her, in fact it was almost an insult to her.

“Zhouyun…? Thank you, thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” I said, my voice still low and wobbling with the threat of tears, “I think I just need to… To toughen up a bit, you know? But if I have people like you and Yuxiang and Pudding behind me, I think I’ll be okay, I’m so, so insanely lucky to have your support so… Thank you, again.”

With that, I reached out to pull the smoking sack a little closer to me, my shaking fingers brushing the roughly woven material. Through the fabric, I could feel the heat of the fiery little embers smouldering gently, warming my skin. Any other day I would’ve flinched back at the feeling, but at that moment, I found that I didn’t mind the sensation, it felt – oddly enough – almost comforting, like holding a glass of tea after a long, cold winter's day, surrounded by your family and friends.

I’d manage. I’d make progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight filler chapter warning? I promise that things will pick up from here, you guys! To be honest, I wanted this chapter to be a sort of comedown from the last one, with a ton of foreshadowing thrown in. I also wanted to take some time to highlight Nonna's mental state, and just how run down she and it both are.
> 
> No need to worry, though! Next chapter is far, far more exciting.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

Despite my now improved outlook on the support Zhouyun was willing to provide, I soon found myself with absolutely no time to use the soul embers she’d given me. 

The morning after she had gifted them to me, it soon became apparent that Morag had been true to her word of recommending my restaurant to others, and of course – as Olivia had said to me – news had a habit of travelling in Gloriville. 

“Customers!” Pudding called to me from the bottom of the stairs, his normally composed voice sharp and somewhat panicked. “Four of them! I know you wanted to go out this morning, Master Attendant, but I think we’ll need all hands on deck for now!”

“Oh, right! Blin, give me a second, then!” I shouted back, rolling my eyes, setting the sack of embers back on my beside table, and making an attempt to untangle myself from the ridiculously huge scarf Pudding had bought me yesterday. Really, I was at a complete loss as to how he’d thought this particular purchase was a good idea, the thing must’ve been almost if not _as_ tall as me, and to top it all off, was dyed a rather unflattering shade of brown. 

I could definitely see myself using it as an extra blanket on some nights, but I had a sneaking suspicion that its sheer bulk would end up choking me rather than keeping me warm if I tried to use it for its intended purpose. 

I’d had half a mind to go out after our customers had left, they were my first priority after all and we couldn’t carry on serving with no money, but oddly enough, the flow of patrons didn’t stop there. All throughout the day, Pudding and I were kept quite busy with a small but consistent trickle of customers, the majority of whom – I began to notice – seemed to be travelling too, and apparently thought of my restaurant as the perfect place for a rest and a top up. At some point that afternoon, I made a mental note to thank Morag as sincerely as I could whenever I saw her next, as it was obvious that her recommendation had lead to my sudden rise in popularity among travellers and hikers.  
I really did owe her quite a lot, after all, staying busy helped to keep my mind distracted and therefore clear. Throughout that first working week in Gloriville, all I could think of was to keep moving, keep occupied and keep making money, stopping and letting my mood drop back down to rock bottom was not something I wished to keep happening. I just couldn’t afford to fall to pieces again, if I was to keep on climbing, I’d have to keep my business consistent, which was difficult, as this was still an incredibly steep learning curve for me, and many of the problems I found myself facing as a restaurant owner were ones that I’d never had to think about before.

As the week wore on, one such problem arose in the form of our food stock. Though it had been more than plentiful when I had first arrived, patronage had caused it to slowly dwindle, and as the flow of customers stayed more or less consistent as the days went by, that nagging feeling of worry once again began to form in my stomach. Pudding and I had been doing well with serving just baked potatoes and perhaps the odd bacon sandwich, but I knew that the menu wouldn’t and couldn’t stay this simple forever, the more new customers my restaurant attracted, the bigger their expectations would grow. We didn’t even have a proper menu set up, for Heaven’s sake, and as filling as a hot baked potato could be, it was a rather dull meal when you thought about it. 

Pudding, of course – encouraged by the money we’d managed to make so far – was there to help, and provide whatever advice he cared to offer, but there was only so much he could do. He wasn’t the biggest man in the world, and though he did his job efficiently and competently, the sight of him completely crashed out in a chair after closing up each evening soon became a common sight. It was clear to me that there was only so much his enthusiasm could do, the restaurant wasn’t big, but the workload was still a bit of a strain for only two pairs of hands.

I needed to go to the market, and I needed another Food Soul, but finding the time to do both of those things was proving incredibly difficult, I couldn’t very well leave an already weary Pudding on his own to struggle through the demand, and going out at night was the last thing I wanted to do, even with Pudding accompanying me, I thought it best not to tempt fate. But really, how much longer could we go on with only a few potatoes and two members of staff?

Thankfully, one afternoon, I finally found myself presented with an opportunity.

The morning had started out like any other, with Pudding and I opening up and making everything look spic and span for when the first customers arrived, which they soon did, always with that same look of curiosity daubed on their faces. Throughout the week, I’d been reminded a few times of what Olivia had said to me back at Zhouyun’s house; that my rather unannounced arrival in Gloriville had caused quite a stir, and that different people would have different opinions about what had happened to me in the forests bordering the City. I’d done my best to not think about that particular night, even if some of the looks I’d received had been the equivalent of suddenly being shoved under a very bright spotlight. It was clear that the people of Gloriville knew who I was and what had happened to me, but they were polite enough to never say a word, or perhaps they simply couldn’t, there was still a language barrier between most of my guests and myself after all.

As our first customers left, however, stillness suddenly fell. One that was so complete and so abrupt that I found myself glancing up and down the street outside the restaurant, wondering if something terrible had happened, but all seemed peaceful, yet devoid of any business.

“Where is everyone?” I asked, turning to face Pudding, who was busy re-arranging a recently vacated table. “I don’t get it, this place has been pretty lively this week, and now…”

“It’s Monday, Master,” Pudding interrupted crisply, as if that solved everything, but as he spotted the puzzled look on my face, he went on, “oh. In Tierra, most of Monday business dies down by around noon; I suppose it’s sort of like a National day of rest. I apologise, I forget you aren’t from around here, but the one other time I was summoned by an Attendant based in Tierra, Mondays were slow then too.”

“Ooh!” I exclaimed, relief flooding through me as I reached around to hurriedly untie my apron. “Fantastic! Well, this couldn’t have come at a better time, if things are going to stay this quiet, I can finally go to the market, _and_ get us an extra set of hands!”

“Thank the Gods,” Pudding sighed, a rare smile forming on his face, “the market should still be open for trade, I think, but please, don’t be too long, Master Attendant, slow business is not equal to no business. Oh, and wear your scarf, won’t you? It’s a tad _parky_ out there and the last thing we need is you getting sick.” 

So, with the gigantic garment wrapped grudgingly around my neck, Zhouyun’s soul embers tied to my belt loop, and a fat stash of gold clinking in my bag, I set off for the market in surprisingly high spirits. I still wasn’t sure of how currency worked in Gloriville, but Pudding had managed to buy a decent sized sack of potatoes _and_ my scarf just with the money Morag had given us, so a week’s worth of pay would more than likely be enough to have a proper stock up.

Pudding had been right, it certainly was cold, or ‘parky’ as he’d so eloquently called it, but it didn’t bother me at all, in fact I was more than glad to be outside considering I’d spent a week cooped up in the restaurant. Even the daunting task of possibly finding myself unable to communicate well with any of the people in the market didn’t seem so bad, I would just have to try my best, I’d managed with my customers after all. Besides, if the market was anything like the way it was when I first arrived, I’d probably be too distracted by all the wonderful produce to worry about looking like an idiot in front of the traders.

Further down the cobbled street I walked, following the path that Olivia had lead me a week ago, recognising the odd shop as I went, and making a note of where Mister Pan’s shabby establishment sat, nestled between its two, more colourful siblings like a rotten tooth in a mouth full of otherwise healthy teeth. Suddenly concerned, I wondered briefly if he’d even be open for business on a Monday, but managed to placate myself with the thought that if I couldn’t summon another Soul today, I’d at least have the chance to stock up. Perhaps Pudding could invest in some strong, black coffee in the morning to give him that extra _rush._

Soon enough, the bustling, hustling buzz of the market reached my ears, and within moments I found myself faced with stall after stall of colourful, fresh produce. Despite it causing a nasty twinge in my stomach, I couldn’t help casting my memory back to the first time I’d seen the market, and how the sight had caused a warmth to grow in my chest, even when my situation had been less than favourable, the sight of people earning money from their hard work never failed to put a smile on my face.

Though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking for, I began to walk through the stalls, my eyes drawn to everything the traders had to offer, really it was hard to figure out what to prioritise, everything looked so delicious, and I hadn’t had that much to eat today.  
Shortly, I found myself drawn to an unattended stand bursting with vegetables and fruits, all neatly stacked into wooden crates, so fresh that the water used to clean them still shone upon their skin in tiny droplets, making them look as if they were encrusted with precious stones. Thinking that perhaps something as simple as a fruit salad for dessert would keep my customers happy, I began to make a mental list of how much I’d need, before my train of thought was brought to a screeching halt by a voice that suddenly squawked from the very back of the stand.

Startled, I glanced up, and almost leapt back in surprise at what I saw; there, perched behind the last few crates of produce on an old wooden chair, sat the oldest woman I’d ever seen in my life. She was so tiny and so wizened that I hadn’t immediately noticed her against the crumpled canvas backdrop of her stall, though her face was little more than a mass of wrinkled skin, her eyes shone brightly with a wit and intelligence that almost immediately endeared me to her, in spite of my surprise. 

Tutting softly to herself, the woman leant towards me, her hands rested carefully atop her knobbly knees, she seemed to be getting a closer look at me, or as close a look as she could from over the top of the wall of fruit she had sat herself behind. For a few moments, we simply stared at each other, my hand half buried in my money bag, her eyes boring into mine, until…

“Come closer.” She rasped, in English this time, gesturing for me to move forward with a hand mottled by age. “Do not just stand there, come, come.”

I didn’t dare disobey her, though I wasn’t entirely sure why, for all intents and purposes, this woman shouldn’t have been able to hurt a fly, but something about her made me feel as though I’d face dire consequences if I didn’t do what she said.  
Doing my best to avoid sending a crate spilling onto the floor, I shuffled a little closer to her, wondering as to the reason behind her strange request. As I moved, her eyes never left mine, and the curious look upon her face only grew, I’d begun to wonder if it was worth just making a run for it, before quite suddenly she smiled, a wide, genuine smile that would’ve made me feel far better, if it weren’t for the fact that her teeth were the stuff of nightmares.

“I thought it was you, yes,” she said happily, shaking a finger crippled with arthritis at me, “you are the girl who caused all the trouble here, aren’t you? I recognise your nose, no one has a nose like that around here.”

“Um, yeah, yeah that was me.” I mumbled, unconsciously raising a hand to my face, while it was true that my nose was a tad larger than average, I’d never had someone pick me out of a crowd simply because of it. Really, I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or offended, perhaps somewhere between the two was the safest place to be.

“Come to visit the best stall in the market?” She laughed croakily, patting the crate she sat alongside. “Go on, do not look so startled! You cannot change the past now, what can I help you with today, hm?”

So, with haste and with plenty of questions about the value of the currency I had with me, I soon had my arms held tightly around a rustling paper bag, filled almost to bursting, and watched somewhat anxiously as the woman held up each gold coin I’d given her up to what little light she had, checking the legitimacy of each and every one of them. However, her inspection didn’t take too long, and soon she was merrily tucking the currency away, giving me a hearty nod and another, beaming smile which I returned, doing my best not to show any of _my_ teeth.

“Off you go, then, girl.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, adjusting my grip on the bag, “thank you very much, you’ve been so nice to me, I was afraid that no one would be able to understand a word I was saying.”

“Oh, and thank _you_ for your purchase,” she replied, once again fixing me with her bright, searching eyes, “it makes me happy, seeing you here in Tierra, I haven’t had any like you visit me in a long, long time.”

_“E-Excuse me?”_

But before I had a chance to question her further, a swarm of people suddenly surrounded the stall, all chatting excitedly and examining the food. I backed away from the hustle, my eyes wide and my fingers digging into the brown paper, a strange roaring steadily growing louder and louder in my ears. For a few moments I merely stared ahead of me into the crowd of shifting bodies, wondering if it was worth fighting my way through to continue talking to the woman, but I soon thought better of it, and hurried away to another store, my ears burning.  
-

Slowly but surely, the sky above me began to darken, bringing with it the threat of another attack at the hands of the Fallen. So, rustling loudly with every step I took, I began to walk back up the hill towards the restaurant, squinting against the cold wind that blew insistently against my face as it tried to sneak its wicked way through any gaps it found in my clothing. As Mister Pan’s tiny shop finally came into view, I fiddled absent-mindedly with the sack still tied to my hip, thinking about what kind of Food Soul I would summon this time, and of my bed back at the restaurant. What I needed was a cup of very strong tea and an early night, anything to get my mind off of the rather cryptic words of the woman I’d met in the market. 

‘Any like you’, she’d said, ‘any like you’… I positively dreaded to think what she’d meant by that, but perhaps, just perhaps she was old enough to…

 ** _”Miss Attendant!”_**

A shout came from somewhere ahead of me, one so loud and so sharp that it rivalled the noise of a gunshot. Thoroughly shaken, I stumbled back, cursing loudly as a few of my bags slid out of my loosened grip and onto the stone below, potatoes and plums rolling in all directions. Stooping down to scoop them back up into my arms as best I could, I glanced angrily up the path to try and spot the culprit, only to see a small figure pelting towards me at full tilt, his hair blown back off of his face by the wind, and his bright blue eyes wide with desperation.

 _“Brownie?”_ I uttered weakly, confusion rendering my voice almost useless. “Debil, you scared me half to death, what’s the big id… Brownie, are you alright? What the Hell happened?”

Brownie was an utter mess, indeed he couldn’t have looked any more different to when I’d seen him last. His smart uniform had been ripped and dirtied, his waistcoat was torn almost completely to shreds, buttons dangled by one or two stray threads, his trousers hung around his leg in muddied tatters, and as he drew closer to me, I caught the distinct and sickening smell of blood, dir and sweat on the wind. 

“I-It’s m-my… My Master Attendant.” He panted, finally stopping and immediately bending double with what I could only assume was exhaustion and the strain of running with his blaster strapped to his back. Panting heavily, he lowered his head, resting his shaking hands upon his thighs as he struggled to catch his breath. “S-She was attacked, ins-inside the catacombs, I don’t know by what, but I… I just can’t find her, Miss Attendant, our c-contract is still active, I can feel it, I _know_ she’s alive, b-but I don’t know for how much longer.”

Utterly stunned, I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on the distraught Food Soul in front of me, not really seeing him, for the deluge of information was just too much to immediately register. Morag had been attacked… Morag was _lost_ in the catacombs. The same catacombs Zhouyun had been almost too scared to talk about, and the same catacombs that had been overrun by crazed Fallen.

“Please,” Brownie gasped out, finally raising a desperate face to me, “Miss Attendant, I c-can’t go back in alone, we both underestimated the strength a-and the _number_ of the Fallen there, I need your help, _please._ I mustn’t let my Master die, I _cannot_ just stand back and leave her to die! I-I’ll repay you a-any way you want for your trouble, I promise you, but I… I can’t… I won’t be able to live with myself if she…”

I couldn’t watch any longer, this display of raw, naked emotion was enough to leave my own eyes burning, and with a deep breath, I moved forwards, setting my shopping down before taking Brownie’s shoulders into my hands, giving him a firm but encouraging shake.

“Brownie, it’s okay, she’ll be _fine.”_ I promised, stifling a shudder at how empty my words sounded, I was just saying the first things that came to mind as if there was no real substance behind them, but really what else could I have done? “Of course I’ll help, you don’t have to _pay_ me anything, don’t talk like that. I owe it to you and Morag.”

“Thank you…!” He gasped out, his lips trembling mightily with the strain of keeping himself together, though his attempts soon proved futile as tears steadily began to well up in his eyes, sliding thick and fast down his cheeks. “Tha-thank you, Miss Attendant.”

It was as if someone had quite suddenly pressed a fast forward button in my brain, like a sudden, chemical reaction triggered by the sight of Brownie so distressed. My thoughts were racing about my head, travelling at twice their usual speed, each one flitting through my mind for a nanosecond before vanishing, and as I glanced over at Mister Pan’s tiny shop, I suddenly knew exactly what to do. Hurriedly, I bent down to scoop my bags back up into my arms, and without hesitation, made a beeline straight for it, calling for Brownie to follow as I went. Morag’s life was in the balance, this really was no time to stop and dwell on the horrible, sickening fear that had filled my stomach, writhing like a pit of angry snakes. If I was going to fall apart again, I’d have to save it until later, there really was no better time to summon a new Food Soul than now.

I just had to hope that they’d be a good fighter.

As it turned out, Mister Pan was still open for business despite the lull that had fallen over Gloriville, but the cool and collected demeanour he’d had when I’d last visited his shop was nowhere to be seen as Brownie and I crashed through the door. Yelping like a wounded dog, he pushed himself back from his desk with a horrible screech of wood against wood, his eyes wide as he surveyed the state of us both, but before he could even draw breath to deliver a stinging protest, I had thrust the sack of soul embers at him, my palms slammed flat against the wood of his desk.

“I need another Food Soul, quickly, Mister Pan, please. It’s an emergency!” I exclaimed, watching with a twinge of annoyance as Pan merely stared at us, his confused eyes flickering from anxious face to anxious face.

“M-Miss Beriyeva, I really must insist that you do not come barrelling into my shop like this.” He stammered, his tone wavering somewhere between indignant and startled, apparently fighting to regain his normal, corporate composure. “You are supposed to book an appointment before seeing me, you know. I’m a very busy man, a lot of people here are in need of new Food Souls, and…”

“Where?” I cried, my voice almost mimicking the pitch his had reached when we’d burst in. “Where are ‘a lot of people’? With all due respect, Mister Pan, there’s no one else here but myself and Brownie! Please, I have the soul embers, I just need to use the portal!”

Much to my increasing dismay, Pan didn’t immediately reply, he seemed almost unable to, as he continued to goggle at the two of us, looking rather uncannily like a fish that had been pulled out of the safety of his pond, and thrust out into the vast, terrifying world. Perhaps he’d never seen quite this much commotion in his building before, I’d never seen the place looking anything but deserted after all. 

“Well,” he finally spoke, his voice layered with annoyance, readjusting his chair, and thrusting a hand into a draw beneath his desk, his sullen composure firmly back in place, “you have certainly perked up a tad since coming here last. You couldn’t even form a proper sentence the last time I saw you, hmph. Well _wànshì kāitóu nán,_ I suppose.”

I didn’t care to comment, in fact thinking back to that particular day was rather unpleasant, so I did my best to keep my mind focused on the task ahead, so much so that I barely registered the new contract slapped onto the table, and the quill that was thrust into my hand. This _rescue mission_ would no doubt require me to shut down the restaurant for a few days, Pudding certainly wouldn’t want to be left behind, and though I would be little to no help against the Fallen, the idea of me letting my Food Souls do all the work for me was positively laughable.  
Besides, all the while as I skimmed through the contract and signed my name, I could feel Brownie trembling beside me, so vigorously that I could hear a gentle rattling coming from the weapon he had strapped to his back. I owed it to him to at least accompany him there, even if I ended up being absolutely useless, I could still offer comfort, it was all I could do.

It was all I could ever do.

“Through here, after you.” Mister Pan said shortly, pushing open the door to the portal room with his foot, my newly signed contract and the sack of soul embers held snugly in his arms. “I will fuel the portal, and then with my say so, you can pull the lever. I probably should mention to you now that I will need to tell Madam Olivia about this, she typically oversees new Cooking Attendants when they summon a Soul. Speaking of which…”

He turned to look at me finally, his old, grey eyes still gloomy with disapproval.

“What Soul are you hoping to summon? You stated some _’emergency’_ earlier, did you not? That is even _more_ reason for Madam Olivia to know that you are here, I do hope you aren’t about to do anything reckless.”

“I don’t… She’s… Look.” I groaned, fighting the urge to wring my hands. “I don’t know what kind of Soul I need, but I sure as Hell know that I don’t want _Olivia_ knowing about this, she’d be able to help – I know she would – but she’d also hold me up, and I really, _really_ don’t have time to lose. We’re…”

“A defence Soul, then?” Pan interrupted, his forehead wrinkled with concentration as he tipped the blazing soul embers into a little metal pocket to the right of the portal. “They’re quite easy to summon, and they’re durable, if you’re going to find yourself up against the Fallen – which you undoubtedly are if you don’t want Olivia involved in this _’emergency’_ – that would be my recommendation.” 

“Fine,” I replied impatiently, casting a glance behind me at Brownie, who hadn’t moved from his position just outside the door, his hands twisting and shaking in front of him, “fine, just please, let me use the portal.”

“Be my guest.” Pan grumbled, stepping back from the humming machine with a rather over the top and uncharacteristic flourish with his hand, before stalking back out of the room, muttering something or other about time wasters.

I didn’t have time to worry about him at the moment, my time spent with Olivia had done more than a thorough job of telling me exactly what to expect of these Gloriville officials, or whatever they called themselves.  
Before me, the portal hummed and glowed softly, once again ready for me to crank out another Soul, and quite contrary to how I’d felt when I’d summoned Pudding, this time had an air of nervous excitement to it. Despite the fear and the adrenaline fighting for dominance inside my stomach, the prospect of meeting another Food Soul was a special one, even if the concept of the contract still filled me with the urge to _retch._

Jaw set and my head still reeling with the prospect of facing the Fallen yet again, I grabbed the portal’s lever and yanked it back as hard as I could. For one, horrible second I thought I heard the crunching of wood splintering beneath my feet, but the deafening screeching of the portal bursting into life soon distracted me. Once again, that piercing light filled the room, and this time I was smart enough to cover my eyes before it got too bright to even squint through. Behind me, I heard Brownie shout something, perhaps out of alarm, but the din was too great to even think straight, let alone offer him reassurance.  
Then, like the last time, just when I though I couldn’t take any more, the rumbling, the noise and the light all stopped abruptly, leaving the room deathly quiet, until a great voice suddenly boomed out.

“Ha! I am _Tempura!”_

Still a little dazed from all the ruckus, I cracked open one eye, and was immediately greeted by a mass of bushy blond hair and a pair of bright, curious amber eyes.  
Opening my own eyes fully, I was finally able to see the Food Soul I’d summoned in all of his glory. My immediate thought was that he looked absolutely nothing like Pudding, he was taller, louder and judging by the rather pronounced muscles rippling up his stomach and chest, more than just a _little_ stronger. He wore what looked to me like the strangest assortment of garments one could ever manage to dress themselves in. He seemed to have started out with a samurai warrior theme from the feet up, but had then lost inspiration by the time he’d reached his midriff, not that I was complaining at all, I’d never exactly been _opposed_ to the sight of a well built man.

The curiosity that had filled his face still hadn’t left, and with a crease forming between his rather bushy eyebrows, he tilted his head, his blond hair dancing about his face, giving him the rather endearing look of a confused golden retriever.

“Haven’t you heard of me?” He asked, still in that strong, booming voice. “Well, no matter! Whatever happens in the future, I will be by your side, ready with my firepower, Master Attendant!”

A sudden scuffling and a yelp from behind me soon told me that Pan had bustled his way back into the room, and by the sound of it had trodden on Brownie’s foot in the process.

“Tempura.” Pan said in an oddly warm tone, holding out the half completed contract to the Food Soul before him. “I didn’t think I’d see you summoned here again, it’s good to know that you’re still in service.”

“Why would I not be?” Tempura boomed back, flashing an excited grin my way as he scrawled his signature – rather untidily – down onto the contract presented to him. “But it’s been a while since I had a new Attendant! I hope you’ve got something _real_ challenging in store for me, Master! I’m ready for whatever you have to throw at me.”

“G-great, great…” I finally replied, returning the grin rather shakily, in spite of myself, “don’t you… Don’t you worry, Tempura, I’ve got a challenge for you alright. One _Hell_ of a challenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We're getting to the real meat of the story. I've been looking forward to the catacombs bit for so long. Also I'm still laying it on thick with the foreshadowing, I'm sorry! It's a weakness of mine.
> 
>  
> 
> 万事开头难 / Wànshì kāitóu nán - All things are difficult at the start.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

The restaurant was dimly lit and completely deserted by the time Brownie, Tempura and I returned, solemn and stony-faced, none of us speaking much. 

Tempura had made several, valiant attempts at making conversation on our way back, only to find himself met with a brick wall of silence each time, so eventually he’d stopped speaking too, his loud and boisterous personality quietened down by the sombre feeling in the air. I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, and swore to myself that I’d make it up to him when this crisis was over, but I just couldn’t think of anything to say; Morag’s fate was the only thing on my mind, and it stayed that way right up until the moment I pushed open the restaurant door.

“Pudding? Are you in the kitchen?” I called, and immediately found myself greeted by the soft clattering of pots coming from the far end of the restaurant.

“Here, Master!” Pudding replied crisply, soon coming into view, drying a plate as he walked, spectacles glinting in the lights of the restaurant. “I must say, you were far longer than I expected. Did you manage to summon…”

But he soon trailed off, apparently too stunned to continue, I could understand his shock. Not only was Tempura roughly the same size and build of _Adonis,_ but I was also willing to bet that he wasn’t expecting to see Brownie either.

“Who in Tierra is… Look at the _size_ of him!”

“Can’t say the same about you, small fry!” Tempura laughed, his jovial mood standing out in stark contrast up against mine and Brownie’s sour expressions. 

“I… You…!” Pudding stammered indignantly. _“’Small fry’!?_ How very dare y… Master? Master Attendant, where are you going?” 

“Upstairs to pack a bag.” I said shortly, setting the bags from the market down onto the nearest table before strolling past him towards the stairs. My mind was once again working at twice its usual speed. I’d need my torch; my coat; the note with Olivia’s number in case of an emergency, and should I risk taking my wallet with me? 

“Where on earth are you going that would require a packed bag?” Pudding cried, seizing me by the back of my collar, causing me to swear loudly and stumble on the stairs. “Master – please, what’s going on? Why are you in all of a dither, and why on earth do you have _Brownie_ with you? Where’s his Attendant?”

“Morag is the reason why I’m packing a bag,” I answered impatiently, reaching around to pull his hand off of my collar, trying my hardest not to fall on top of him as I struggled, “she’s gone missing, Brownie says he lost sight of her in the catacombs, and I said that we’d help to find her.”

“You said we would what!?”

“For God’s sake, get _off,_ Pudding!” I shouted, my anxiety finally reaching its boiling point, though thankfully the volume of my voice was enough to make him let go, his eyes wide. I felt just a tad guilty, I hadn’t meant to make that much noise, but I had no time to stop and apologise, every second wasted was a second in which Morag could be killed, and I had to think logically. Hurt feelings really weren’t as important as potentially losing a human life, human lives came first.

Once upstairs, I moved around my room as if a sequence had been programmed into my brain, I opened my draws, my wardrobe, reached under my bed, stuffing everything I’d listed in my head into my bag. I hesitated at my wallet, opening it briefly to look at the picture I kept inside before shoving it into my coat pocket. After all, if anything happened to the restaurant while I was gone, I didn’t want it to be in harm’s way, it would be far better off with me.

“Master!” Pudding called to me from the bottom of the stairs, his voice once again raised with panic. “You… _Do_ recall what Yuxiang and her Attendant told us about the catacombs, don’t you? Demonic noises? Out of control Fallen? Horrific sounds?”

“Nevertheless, we have to go, Pudding, we need to get to Morag, I can’t just sit back and let her be killed.” I said shortly, though I’d barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before my wrist was grabbed by the Magic Soul.

“Really! You’re serious? Are you insane?” He hissed, shaking my arm as if that would help me see sense. “After everything you’ve suffered at the hands of the Fallen, you’re now going to throw yourself directly at them? The catacombs are _swarming_ with the wretched things, Master Attendant! Who’s going to watch your back?”

“I will!” Tempura shouted happily from the dining room, but Pudding ignored him.

“I know you’re worried about your fellow Attendant, I’m sure we all are! But we really must reconsider, we need to be realistic! Why not fetch Madam Olivia? She has a Support Soul, we’d…”

“No!” I replied firmly, wrenching my wrist out of his grip, choosing to pretend I hadn’t seen the way he gaped and hastily shoved his hand into his trouser pocket. Really, how hadn’t he learned that it wasn’t a good idea to grab me by now? “I know that Olivia could help us, but come _on,_ Pudding, be honest, she’s a complete pain in the ass on the best of days.”

“W-Well! I…”

“All she would do is hold us up,” I continued solemnly, sidestepping him in order to make my way back to Tempura and Brownie, “and Morag doesn’t have time for us to be held up. We need to think about her wellbeing for now, alright? I doubt we’d have as many customers as we do now if it weren’t for her, we owe her so much, too much.”

I glanced back at the Magic Soul, almost daring him to answer back, but thankfully he didn’t. In fact, he looked almost humbled, but there was fear there too, turning his normally warm eyes a pale, hard gold. 

“What’s gotten into you, Master Attendant?” He asked tentatively, as if I would leap forwards and bite his head off if he spoke wrong. “I’ve never seen you this fired up before, it’s like you’re a completely different person.”

I didn’t answer, preferring instead to join the other Food Souls in the dining room, but Pudding’s words had still registered, and they sunk one by one into my skin like a hot knife digging into a lump of butter. 

“We’re about two hours walk away from the Nevras border,” Brownie was saying to Tempura, who was hunched over the table, almost quivering with excitement at the prospect of this dangerous quest, “it’s a fairly straightforward rout, and it’s getting dark out, so we won’t have to worry about traffic on the roads. If we leave now, we should be able to get there before night is truly upon us…”

As we talked on, discussing strategy and all the possible shortcuts we could take, the sky grew steadily darker outside, and the lamps lining the street slowly began to flicker on. Slowly but surely, their pale golden light came streaming in through the thick glass of the restaurant windows, making the shadows cast by the chairs and tables elongated and eerie. For some reason, the sight caused a pit of dread to slowly rise in my stomach, even as I forced myself to focus on the crisis at hand, it crept up slowly, wickedly.

“I think we’d best head off…” Brownie spoke quietly, reaching across the table to roll up the map, his face ashen and drained.

“Yeah!” Tempura roared out, making us all jump; but the massive Defence Soul looked all too eager to get going, as he jogged on the spot, his face alight with the promise of a challenge. “I’ll lead the way if you give me the map!”

“I-I really think I should…” Brownie began tentatively, only to find the table suddenly barren as Tempura whisked up the map, charging towards the door with an exclamation that ‘he knew the way just as well’.

“Tss!” Pudding tutted from beside me, casting one, last disapproving look around the restaurant before storming after the larger man, untying his apron from around his waist and folding it neatly in about two seconds flat as he went.

I glanced at Brownie, and immediately realised that he looked exactly how I felt. Wanting to offer some kind of comfort, I reached out a hand to rub his shoulder, though the worry in my stomach only increased when he didn’t respond.

“Morag will be fine, Brownie, I promise you,” I said, though even to me, my words sounded hollow, “I _promise.”_

-

Pudding had been right, winter _was_ bitter in Gloriville, but though I felt its bite, as usual it didn’t bother me. The same couldn’t be said for the Food Souls however, who – though they strived to hide it – still shivered in the icy air, even Tempura seemed to be suffering from it, though he strode along as bold as brass, I could see that his jaw was still clenched to stop his teeth from chattering.

As we walked on, and on, and on, I suddenly began to wish that someone would initiate conversation, even Tempura’s thunderous voice would’ve helped, for the unease in my stomach that had started in the restaurant was back, and this time it meant business. I knew fully well that Pudding hadn’t meant any harm by what he’d said in the restaurant – how could he have done? But that knowledge hadn’t stopped his words from sitting like an active bomb in my head since leaving the restaurant. Ticking down the seconds until the explosion… 

I knew that I shouldn’t have let myself get so consumed with helping Morag, I knew that I should’ve at least tried to keep a cool head and avoided sounding like some kind of drill sergeant barking out orders, that was the _last_ vibe I wanted to give off, especially in front of Pudding or the other Food Souls. I was meant to be a fair leader, a competent and responsible Cooking Attendant who sympathised with the rest of her team, but the way Pudding had looked at me in that moment would not stop haunting me. That _fear_ in his eyes had been real and evident to me, and in the image in my strained and anxious mind, it looked twice as piercing, desperate, begging… 

“Master Attendant? What are you doing back there?”

I wasn’t sure when I’d stopped walking, or who had called my name, all I knew was that my breathing had suddenly grown short, my hands had balled themselves up in my coat pockets, and that the cold had nothing to do with the way my body was shaking. Everything around me seemed to be moving slowly, and there was a roaring in my ears that made the dormant adrenaline in my chest suddenly rear its ugly head, trying to claw its way out of my ribcage. A sudden rustling of footsteps and whispering of voices around me told me that Pudding, Tempura and Brownie had moved closer, but I held up my hands instinctively, as if to protect myself, shaking my head jerkily.

“D-Don’t… Don’t… I can’t…”

“Master Attendant! What’s the matter?” Tempura’s voice sounded beside my ear, his characteristic, cheery tone horribly absent.

“I can’t… Br – I… B-Brea… I can’t…”

“Sit her down, sit her down _now.”_

Before I could protest, I met the the cold, unforgiving ground with a thump, my head spinning, and my chest tight. Looking around wildly, I almost yelped when I felt two hands clamp down onto my shoulders, and instinctively I began to struggle, thrashing wildly about against them.

“G-Get off! Get off!”

“Master Attendant, you need to _breathe,”_ Pudding’s voice came, though it sounded oddly muffled and far away, as if he were shouting at me through a tunnel, “look at me and _breathe,_ four seconds in, six out, come on now.”

“P-Pudding…”

 _”Breathe,_ Master, ride it out; listen to me, it’ll only get worse if you wriggle around like that.”

Everything was chaos to me, my mind was in turmoil, a crowded mess of panic and guilt that writhed and thrashed like a wounded animal. I clutched desperately at Pudding’s sleeves, my eyes burning with tears, my throat in agony with the strain of keeping back tears, but somehow – miraculously – I managed to suck in a shaking breath, one… Two… Three… Four.

“That’s it, that’s it, keep going, six seconds out. Four in; six out; four in; six…”

Slowly, painfully, my mind began to clear, and the fog clouding my eyes soon dissipated, leaving me feeling utterly drained, yet in full control of my mind and body again. I glanced up, numb with embarrassment to find that my worst fears had been confirmed; all three of the Food Souls were crowded around me, Brownie looked terrified and fidgety, whereas Tempura just looked confused.

“You – uh… You alright down there, Attendant?”

I couldn’t reply.

-

Dawn was only just beginning to break when we finally approached the Nevras border, staining the pitch-black sky with the faintest hints of blue and pink, steadily growing bolder and brighter as we walked on. The half-light above illuminated the scenery around us, causing the hills and banks to look positively monstrous. Though I was relieved to finally see a hint of daylight, the sight set off yet another twinge of guilt in my stomach, as I realised that due to my panic attack, I’d unwittingly forced the rest of my party to walk all night. I glanced sideways at Pudding, who – apparently noticing the look on my face – reached out to rest a hand on my shoulder.

“Don’t look at me like that, Master Attendant,” he scolded lightly, his eyes drooping slightly with tiredness, “I must’ve told you a dozen or so times on our way here; I completely understand why you panicked, you were in over your head and it just became too much for you, that’s all, there’s no shame in it.”

“Pudding, that’s,” I paused, still trembling slightly with adrenaline, and in my weakened state, I almost felt safe enough, “that isn’t what…”

“There!” Came Tempura’s triumphant voice from somewhere ahead, and I glanced up just in time to see him pointing enthusiastically to the right of us. As I followed his hand, and the sun continued to rise above, I suddenly became aware of two large, iron gates set into a wall of concrete half hidden beneath a grassy bank. One of them stood slightly ajar, revealing a square of complete darkness, while the other seemed to have been wrenched off of its hinges, and now laid sadly in the dirt, its metal marked with scratches and dents.

“That isn’t good…” Brownie mumbled, his voice shaking slightly with exhaustion. “Those gates were both in tact when I left…”

“Is your contract still active, Brownie?” I asked in a hushed voice as Pudding and I approached, the latter’s face stiff with what I could only assume was fear, it was a horrid expression that didn’t look right on him at all.

“Y-yes, yes.” He mumbled, a hand moving up to grasp somewhat wildly at the tatters of his waistcoat, as if to check that his heart was still beating, it was a gut-wrenching sight. “I can still feel it, Master Attendant isn’t dead, but I feel as though we’ve tempted fate for long enough, we have to get inside those catacombs now.”

“Are you sure?” I cautioned, my lips pressed together in a thin line as I watched him sway slightly where he stood, his eyes dull. “You look exhausted, you all do. I know we can’t really afford to waste anymore time, but how can you fight if you’re too tired to even stand?”

“No sweat!” Tempura laughed, rubbing his hands together furiously to dispel the morning chill. “I can take anything on! I’ve been raring for a good fight ever since you summoned me, Attendant! Us Food Souls are durable, we’re _strong,_ and we’d do anything to improve ourselves! Right, Brownie, Pudding? Are you two coming with me?”

There was a moment’s silence, in which I was half afraid that either Brownie or Pudding may collapse where they stood, we _had_ been walking for most of the night after all, and Pudding had worked a full morning shift before all of this had happened. Yet…

“I’m with you,” Pudding voiced his ascent, rolling his shoulders back, wincing as a few cracks sounded, “how can I not be? We’ve all come so far to reach this wretched place, there’s no point in giving up now.”

Brownie too, despite looking utterly shattered, nodded heartily, reaching around to retrieve his blaster, holding it poised and ready beside his hip, his face hardened with a type of determination that I hadn’t seen before. I could feel an energy in the air then, a passionate, powerful sensation that seemed to crackle like a live wire, so strong that even I managed to conjure up my last few dregs of strength. It was incredible just how easily Tempura had managed to whip up morale out of absolutely nowhere, and I found myself thanking whatever God happened to be listening that I’d summoned a Food Soul like him.

“But first,” the Defence Soul cried enthusiastically, his giant hands set firmly on his hips, “it’s dark in there. We must figure out a way to light our path, any ideas?”

Another pause fell over us, until, with a small rustle, I opened up my bag and rummaged through it until I’d produced a small, silver tube. With a few, deft movements, a beam of light clicked on, illuminating a short path before us. 

“Torch.” 

_”AHA!”_ Tempura roared, reaching forward to swipe it out of my hands, staring down at it with utter admiration. “Genius, Master Attendant! Now, let us waste no more time. I’ll lead! All of you stay behind me, if any Fallen come at us, I want to be the first to take them on.”

With that, we began to move again.

Something horrid, raw and almost primal slowly but surely began to rise up within me as Tempura pulled open the still functioning gate to allow us to pass through. Even with the torch, the catacombs were still cold, damp, unforgiving; as we moved deeper, I began to notice more and more passages separate from our own, winding off in all directions, some far too low or far too narrow for any of us to fit through.

I dearly hoped that Morag hadn’t found herself trapped or lost down one of those, perhaps out cold so that she couldn’t speak, or injured or dangerously dehydrated. How exactly we were going to find her was completely beyond me, everywhere we passed looked exactly the same, and as we travelled further and further down the main passage, the darkness became complete, the weak light from my torch serving as our only guide, and even that didn’t illuminate more than a foot or so in front of us.

“Wait.”

Tempura’s voice came from somewhere ahead, echoing horribly, bouncing around the damp walls. I obediently came to a halt, realising as I did so that my breathing had begun to speed up and that my heart was once again trying to burst out of my chest.

“Can anyone else hear that?” Tempura asked, a little quieter this time, apparently he too had been a little startled by just how magnified his voice had been. “That… Grinding.”

I tilted my head slightly, ears pricked for the faintest whisper of movement, but it didn’t take me long to make out what he’d heard. Somewhere directly to the left of me, down one of the narrower passages _something_ was moving, something _big._ Admittedly, the noise was very faint, but it sounded to me as if it was trying to claw its way out of the passage, creating a horrid screeching of what sounded like metal on stone as it went.

“We need to move,” came Pudding’s hushed voice from somewhere next to me, “Tempura, I suggest we deal with whatever _that_ is later, lets keep going.”

Tempura didn’t reply, but as he began to move again, it became obvious that he’d agreed with Pudding’s statement, after all, the more conflict we could avoid, the better. However, we’d only travelled a few feet more until I felt the floor level out beneath me, and Tempura’s voice once again sounded from the front.

“Hey! I think we’ve reached a chamber!”

It turned out that he was right, and I breathed out with some relief as we finally left the suffocating walls of the main passage behind us, though the air was still stale and damp I inhaled it gladly, my head spinning ever so slightly. I’d really have to get a grip if I were to have any chance of helping to find Morag.

As we spread out around the chamber – always keeping the light from the torch in sight – Tempura’s voice rang out yet again through the darkness.

“There are wooden torches set into the wall here, we should light them! That way we can have some hope of finding our way back here if any of us get separated.”

“Wouldn’t that… A-Attract the Fallen, though?” I asked tentatively, more afraid of the prospect of fire than I was of the beasts lurking in the passages. “The last thing I want is to lure a whole swarm of them here.”

“Nah! Exactly the opposite! Why’d you think they only come looking for a fight in the dark, huh?” Tempura asked, and though I couldn’t see him, I could hear a grin in his voice. “Most Fallen _hate_ light, Attendant and the ones down here almost certainly will. Hey, Brownie, could we use that blaster of yours to light these? 

Brownie?”

Brownie didn’t reply, nor did Tempura ask for his answer again, in fact everyone seemed to have gone deathly quiet, standing stock still, listening. After a few more moments, I soon understood why.

**_SMASH!_ **

For a split second, I thought that the entire world had exploded, for the sudden burst of shattered rock that pelted me surely could not have been caused by anything less than a meteor striking the earth. But by the time I’d cleared my eyes and picked myself up off of the floor, I realised with a jolt of utter horror that no such thing had occurred. Instead, I found myself faced with the biggest and most gruesome Fallen I’d ever seen in my life.

At first, my fear-addled mind could’ve sworn that the creature was nothing but a mass of eyes rolling atop a mouth, a giant, hideous, salivating mouth filled with jagged teeth, jutting out like poorly placed tombstones; but as it writhed and thrashed about, I could see that it was supported on a set of glistening tentacles, several of which had lashed out, aiming straight for my team.  
Yelping with shock, out of the corner of my eye I saw Pudding roll quickly out of its way, but Brownie wasn’t so lucky. The smaller Food Soul took the full brunt of the blow, and he landed in a crumpled heap against a nearby wall, his blaster cradled limply in his lap.

 **”Get back!”** I heard Tempura bellow, and with a brilliant flash, the Defence Soul sent a bolt of light hurtling towards the monster, who was immediately bowled back with a horrific screech, but far from causing it any damage, the attack appeared to have just made it angrier. Howling with rage, it lunged for Tempura, its mouth opened wide enough to swallow him whole, but once again it found itself interrupted by another beam of light, cast by Pudding this time.

In all the noise and confusion I found myself slowly edging back along the wall towards the main passage, my breathing shallow and quick, my head swimming with conflict. On the one hand, I didn’t want to leave my team behind, but on the other, I didn’t want to be in this Fallen’s way when it once again launched an attack. I’d seen creatures _far_ smaller than this one wreak absolute havoc on whole villages, and I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance if it chose to swipe at me next.

“Brownie…” I muttered, reaching down to shake the groaning Food Soul’s shoulder. “Brownie, come on, you can't f-fight like this, come with me, I’ll…”

 **”Attendant!”** Came Tempura’s colossal voice, laced with panic. **”Behind you!”**

Startled, I glanced around, only to find myself eye to eye with the Fallen; snarling furiously, it lashed out again, narrowly missing my head with its tentacle. Panic-stricken, I grabbed Brownie’s shoulder, doing my best to yank him out of harm’s way; as it turned out, I’d acted just in time as yet another blinding stream of light came pelting our way.

The force of the impact sent me spinning across the dirt floor until my back collided hard with the doorway to the main passage. Lights popping in front of my eyes, I fought to keep moving, I could still hear the snarling and screeching of the Fallen behind me, yet despite Brownie’s predicament, the only thought in my head at that very moment was to _run._

In my blind terror and desperation to find somewhere safe, I bolted into the first passage I could find, wedging myself deeply into it, not caring about my lack of space; all I wanted was to get _away_ from that Fallen and fast. From beyond the passage, I could still hear Tempura and Pudding casting and launching their attacks, all accompanied by the choked screeches and growls from their target, it didn’t sound like they were having much success at all; and as I waited in the darkness, that guilt soon began to resurface, searing my insides, burning me up. _I_ should be out there with them, I realised, _I_ should be fighting, I’d done it before, it was all I…

It was no good, I too tired to squash down everything I was feeling, and there in the darkness, I allowed the guilt and the shame to completely overwhelm me; in the end, all I could do was hide my face in my shoulder and wait for it all to pass.

-

Seconds later, or perhaps it was minutes, maybe even an hour, I finally lifted up my head, my whole body aching, everything was still, pitch-black and deathly quiet, had my team managed to kill the Fallen? I certainly couldn’t hear any fighting, everything around me was utterly silent… 

Apart from that… Awful scraping coming from somewhere in front of me.

… In front of me?

Suddenly, I found my strength, and with a pained grunt, I struggled to turn around, back towards the exit of the passage; only to find myself completely stuck, and judging by a searing pain in my shoulder, at risk of straining my arm, or even breaking it. In my hurry to escape the Fallen, I must’ve wedged myself so far down inside the passage that I was now quite unable to escape.

Oh, fuck, fuck… _Fuck!_

A blinding panic once again rose within me like an angry python, and as I struggled desperately to get free, the pain in my arm steadily grew worse and worse until I was almost choking back tears because of it. I couldn’t break my arm, I couldn’t _afford_ to break it, what on earth was I supposed to do when it…

I stopped abruptly, my ears suddenly full of the noise again, and it sounded closer now; a frantic, skin-crawling, teeth-itching grating of metal dragging against the stone. However, for some, strange reason, the sound didn’t immediately cause me to panic, in fact, from what I could hear, whatever was down there seemed just as keen to escape as I did.  
Still trembling and gasping for air, I glanced up towards the noise, but a split second later I fervently wished that I hadn’t, for the sight ahead made my heart jump up into my mouth.

Mere feet away from me, something _enormous_ was clawing its way towards me, squeezing its way out as best it could with its huge frame, inch by inch, gripping at the oppressive stone walls with bloody, torn hands; illuminated quite clearly by two giant, glowing eyes, both of which were fixed directly on me, unmoving, unblinking.

_**”AaaAAAAGHH!”** _

I hadn’t meant to scream, honestly I was surprised that I could still make noise at all, but something about those eyes had caused the adrenaline lying dormant within me to bubble up once again like a pit of lava. Wrenching and struggling with all my might, I finally felt something in my arm give way with a sickening crack, driven almost crazy with the fresh pain, I was nevertheless able to yank myself out of the passage and onto the dirt floor below with a thud.

Cradling my now useless arm in my functional one, I struggled to my feet as best I could, banging into the walls of the main passage as I rushed back out into the chamber, yet I didn’t get far before I found myself face down in the dirt again, having tripped over something lying across the entrance.

“Brownie?!” I called out, wriggling about, groping around blindly for the still evidently unconscious Food Soul. “B-Brownie, please wake up, we have to go! Th-There’s something in that passage back there, it’s…”

I stopped, suddenly aware of movement behind me, movement accompanied by a low, continuous growling that set my stomach churning. Oh God, oh _fuck,_ if that thing was back, then…

_“AUGH!”_

Something hot and slimy collided sharply with my stomach, the sheer force of which sent me flying through the air and crashing into the opposite wall. Utterly winded, I slid down it limply, overwhelmed with agony, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d broken several ribs given how difficult it was to breathe. Helpless and surely on the brink of unconsciousness, I glanced up towards my attacker, unable to see it, but I could feel its hot, rancid breath all around me; it was right in front of me, I could tell, no doubt ready to eat me alive and chew me up in that horrid, dripping mouth.

“Ahah… Nng!” I coughed out violently, tasting blood on my tongue. “M… ake… It qui… ck…”

**BANG!**

A terrible scream, another flash of light, and the Fallen was once again blown back, illuminated for a brief second by a stream of bright violet flame. A wave of fresh panic hit me at the sight of the fire, but any strength I’d had was long gone, how on earth hadn’t I blacked out yet?

Well, thank God that at least Tempura and Pudding had made it back just in time.

But wait, I hadn’t actually seen either of them produce purple flames before…

Or had I? I couldn’t…

Remember… Couldn’t bring myself to remember…

Maybe I’d… Ask them later… Maybe… I definitely needed to ask how they’d managed to…

Flames… The same colour as his… 

Ugh…

God, my stomach fucking _hurt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why the FF game requires you to go into the catacombs ONLY WHEN you have a team of five Food Souls. Fuck's sake, y'all.
> 
> ANYWAY! This chapter has ACTION! Hooray! Took me long enough, huh? I'm sorry that Nonna's moping took up quite a bit of this chapter, but she's a deeply conflicted woman, as will become more and more evident as the story plays out.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this! Thank you very much if you're reading this and/or have read the entire story so far! I really appreciate it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

_As he finally reached her and stood in front of her, .... . / -.-. --- -. - .. -. ..- . -.. / - --- / ... -- .. .-.. . / ... --- ..-. - .-.. -.-- / -.. --- .-- -. / .- - / .... . .-. --..-- his expression and manner appeared warm, ... .- ..-. .. So effective was his calm smile that ... .... . felt herself relaxing ever so slightly, despite nerves still present in her belly. He had a gentle and strangely loving air to him, one that she’d never applied to him in her head. Apparently well-used to assisting those hopelessly smaller than him, the massive man bent down and the two exchanged a small and short kiss, as was custom. Soon enough however, he was back to his full and rather daunting height, ... .... . swallowed._

__

__

.-..-. ... --- --..-- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . / -- ..- .-. -- .- -. --..-- / - .... . -. --..-- .-..-. / .... . / ... - .- - . -.. --..-- / .-. .- - .... . .-. / --- -... ...- .. --- ..- ... .-.. -.--, his voice was clear and at a much higher pitch than ... .... . had imagined, “well, of course you are, look at you, my newest .... . .-. ---.”

-

_.-..-. .. .----. -- / - .-. ..- .-.. -.-- / ... --- .-. .-. -.-- --..-- / -. --- -. -. .- .-.-.- .-..-._

-

I woke up to an explosion of noise and light, battering my eyes and ears mercilessly, causing me to almost pass out again from the sheer intensity of it all. It took me a few moments to remember where I was and what had happened, but before I could even begin to get my brain in order, I felt a quaking from all around, and for a horrible moment I feared that the floor would cave in beneath me.

“M-Miss… Attendant…?”

Somehow, miraculously, I heard Brownie’s voice sound from somewhere above my ear, and with another blaze of purple light, I caught sight of him pulling himself towards me, dragging his gun along behind him, ashen-faced and trembling.

“Brownie,” I groaned hoarsely, turning my aching head towards him, “you’re okay… I…”

“I don’t know about that,” Brownie replied in equally rough tones, thrusting out his free hand towards me, something shiny held in his grasp, “I… Found your torch, t-turn it on quickly, maybe we can see what’s…”

He trailed off, or perhaps I was temporarily deafened by the noise that suddenly boomed out; a horrid, pained shriek, and that ear-splitting grinding of metal yet again. Dimly, I thought back to my time in the restaurant with Morag, and the mention of the reward sent out for putting a stop to the ruckus down here. God… That time felt like a thousand years ago.

Numbly, and wincing each time that horrid grating echoed about the chamber, I fumbled about for the switch on my torch, eventually managing to send a beam of light spilling across the stone floor. The sight immediately illuminated before me was enough to make my stomach churn; the ground before us was splattered with blood, so much that it appeared to have collected in puddles. There was some other substance there too, something thicker and darker, mingling with the blood, the light cast by the torch made it give off a different, oddly colourful reflection.

That really did look an awful lot like… 

Then, without warning, the enormous Fallen came tearing out of the darkness towards us once again, mouth first, eyes bulging, splattering the wall behind me with blood and saliva. I knew that at some point, I’d opened my mouth to scream, I remembered the sound bubbling up in my chest, remembered the burning in my throat, but soon I found that there was no need to make such a noise.

Hissing wetly, the Fallen reared back from me, and with good reason, for quite suddenly it had found itself faced with a new, and much bigger adversary, bigger than either Pudding or Tempura at any rate. As I squinted through the half-darkness, and as my brain slowly started to work again, I began to register exactly what it was that I was seeing. Bloody hands; dark eyes; a clenched jaw; ripped shirt; _wings._ Were those wings? The horrible, tattered way in which they hung off of this person’s body certainly didn’t make me think them capable of flight, perhaps they had been at some point? But the one thing that stood out to me the most about this new arrival was their size, even up against the gargantuan Fallen, they were no shrimp, they must’ve been seven feet, or thereabouts at the very least…

“What in the… _What in the world is…”_ I muttered, half to myself, half to Brownie, but I soon found myself interrupted.

With another bloodcurdling shriek, the Fallen lunged forwards, apparently having decided that it wasn’t finished just yet, but it didn’t get far before it was once again blasted back with what could only be described as a firestorm, brought forth from what looked like a metal cane held by the figure in front of us.

“Brownie…” I groaned out again, my head pounding and my stomach twisting and lurching at the sight of the flame. “Brownie, _please,_ we need to do something, the… That Fallen is…”

But yet again, the rest of my words didn’t make it all the way to my mouth, which soon fell open once more in a mixture of fear and wonder. The person before us, battered and bloodied as they were, had turned around to face me with a painful creaking of metal. I gazed up – my heart thumping fit to burst – up into the two, giant eyes that had fixed themselves upon me, I could see now that his sclera’s were completely black, yet his iris’s were nowhere near as dull. Even in the near darkness of the chamber, they were bright enough to illuminate his face, bringing out his sharp cheekbones and the rather alarming amount of steam he produced every time he exhaled. For all the noise it was making, he seemed to have forgotten completely about the angry Fallen behind him, preferring instead to keep on staring at me, something akin to confusion growing clearer and clearer on his face the longer he looked.

**WHAM!**

The Fallen had thrown itself forwards once more, and with a snap of its fearsome jaws, it whipped a tentacle across the man’s face with almost terrifying force; crying out in agony, he stumbled back, a hand held up to his eye, which I could see had begun to spark and sputter dangerously like a tripping circuit. With a jolt of fear, I saw his cane drop to the floor with a clatter, where it was immediately knocked away into a dark corner by yet another of the Fallen’s tentacles. 

I watched helplessly as our would-be savior – now completely unarmed – spun around, eyes widening and pupils shrinking for a fraction of a second before he was slammed into the opposite wall with another strangled cry, interrupted by a sudden, horrid choking noise as a flurry of blood bubbled up at his mouth, gagging any other noise he’d hoped to make.

My stomach lurched at the sight, and I thrust out my hand once again for Brownie, hissing out of the corner of my mouth to him as loudly as I could without alerting the Fallen.

“Brownie… Damnit… We need to _do something,”_ I said, fumbling with my torch in order to shine it in the Magic Soul’s direction, “that thing is big enough to tear him apart! Come on, Brownie, _please!”_

Brownie stirred faintly, his eyes rolling in his head as he fought not to slip into unconsciousness again, but one glance over at the pitiful scene before him appeared to give back some of his morale. Groaning with pain, he groped about for his blaster, hauling it into his lap and firing it up with a rhythmic clunking and whirring of mechanical parts. Soon enough, the tip began to glow with power, clicking and sparking slightly as it started to revolve, its light growing brighter and brighter with each second.

As I watched impatiently, anticipation and fear clawing at my insides, I tried my hardest not to listen to the gut-wrenching sounds coming from the heart of the chamber. Any minute now… Any second now, that Fallen would get what was coming to it, any second now!

“Come _on,_ Brownie.” I moaned, chancing a glance across at the battle raging on beside me, only managing to watch for a few seconds before I couldn’t take anymore. 

“I can’t… Make it… Heat up any faster… Miss…!” Brownie huffed, though his grip on the gun was slack, and it looked as if he were struggling to keep his eyes open. “Cov… Cover your ears, I’m going to aim for its… Head.”

Obediently, I shoved my fingers into my ears, and watched as yet again the chamber was lit up with golden light. The ammo from Brownie’s gun soared across the room with a bang, colliding with the Fallen at breakneck speed, sending blood and viscera flying in all directions, and it roared with rage and pain. Morag had been quite right, Brownie’s weapon certainly was something to behold and the damage it dealt was phenomenal; for one – glorious second – I thought that we’d won, until another tentacle came tearing out of the half-darkness towards us.

My whole body seemed to snap shut as it came, my muscles tensed, my head dropped down and my legs became drawn up to my chest, arms clutching them to me for dear life as once again the whole chamber seemed to shake. Half-stunned and barely able to hear anything over the ringing that had filled my ears, I gradually unfolded myself, wildly glancing around for Brownie; only to find him completely out cold, slack-jawed with one eye still half open. 

A cry from somewhere in front of me soon caught my attention, and I saw that miraculously, the Fallen still hadn’t succumbed to its injuries. Snarling in utter fury, it continued to rain damning blow after damning blow down onto the quivering figure beneath it, I could barely make him out anymore, apart from the occasional twitch of movement, or the odd, breathless groan. I was going to watch that thing beat him to death, I suddenly realised, the only coherent thought I could grasp through the panic and disgust flooding my brain, I was just going to _sit here_ and watch someone die, all because I couldn’t… I wouldn’t…

Somewhere, deep within me, something was stirring, that same something that had tried to rise up when I’d first entered the catacombs. It bubbled away, simmering, boiling, spurred on by the sounds filling the chamber, and the raw fear of seeing someone else die right before my eyes.  
All of a sudden, I felt my eyes flick to the side, to Brownie lying limply against the wall, and to the still active blaster waiting in his lap, its light almost seemed to call to me, and the revolving mechanism surrounding it reminded me – almost comfortingly – of the portal back in Mister Pan’s shop, spinning, glowing. There was hope in that light – I thought to myself – there was a way out somewhere in that glow, a way back, an opportunity.

Fingers shaking with exhaustion, I made a desperate grab for the weapon, dragging it and myself up off of the floor with almost alarming ease, only to be brought back to earth with a bang as a hollowing pain suddenly shot through my injured arm. Another series of horrible sounds washed over me as I stood there, holding the gun up as best I could with one arm, while the other throbbed and smarted as I tried to force it to move. Every twitch my fingers made was akin to someone shoving a hot poker through my arm, but I could still do it, I could still flex them, I could still _grip_ with them.

Yet again, I glanced up towards the Fallen, watching as its bloodlust continued, using its three remaining eyes to stare down at its prey, its open mouth dripping blood, tentacles raised to swipe yet again. God _damn,_ when would it be enough? When would these vile things ever be satisfied? Was there really no end to just how much they could rip, destroy, devour, tear, decimate, conquer, _invade!?_

_**“GET. OFF. OF. HIM!”** _

Somewhere from within my body, a roar of my own came, a depraved and animalistic noise, layered with pain and rage, the fear I’d felt upon first arriving in Gloriville, the frustration of having to sit back while my home was destroyed, the anger I’d forced myself to bottle up for decades upon _decades!_

_“Once you activate it to its full power, it fires four rounds in a row, all you need to know is how to aim it properly…”_

**ONE.**

The first shot hit the Fallen right where Brownie had struck first, deepening the wound he’d inflicted, causing yet more of its innards to dirty the walls. Bellowing, the creature scrambled about, half dragging itself across the floor as it came towards me, death glinting in its eyes.

**TWO.**

I reared back, every nerve in my broken arm screaming with protest as I jerked the weapon upwards, firing the second round directly into its open mouth. By the light of the gun, I saw it reel away from me, gurgling horribly, its eyes rolling in its head.

**THREE.**

I felt the ground suddenly meet my knees, but I made no attempt to clamber back up again, the third strike had hit and I could _definitely_ see the beast beginning to struggle now, though it still snarled and lashed out, blood splattering my face as it went.

**FOUR!**

The fourth shot hit it directly between the eyes, finally taking out the last of its vision and causing yet more damage to its brain; blinded and near-completely paralysed, the Fallen curled its tentacles around its torn body, barely able to make any noise at all through its ruined mouth.  
It still took far, far too long for it to die in my eyes, though it did slowly, pitifully, writhing on the floor in a bloody mass, its glistening tentacles eventually stilling and its shallow breathing petering out. It laid there several feet away from me, motionless, its own blood pooling around it, sticky and steaming in the faint light still cast by Brownie’s gun. 

I felt stone against my back, cold yet utterly welcome, and I heard my heartbeat racing in my ears, still alive… Still alive, still fighting. Dimly, I registered the fact that Brownie’s gun had slipped from my grasp and rolled away across the floor, leaving me unarmed and on the edge of blacking out. I knew that I’d pay for this, I knew that at some point, fear and paranoia would both rise, ready to eat me alive and strip me of all I’d worked for throughout my life, but at that moment I didn’t care. I could still – although faintly – hear the ragged breathing of both Brownie and the Fallen’s victim mingling with my own, and that sound kept me from sinking; _that_ sound kept it from all completely overwhelming me once again.

-

“Master Attendant! Master Attendant! Wake up!”

“Don’t yell at her like that, Tempura, Gods above, she’s not even conscious! Go and help Brownie, will you? He’s at least aware of his surroundings, I’ll see what I can do for her.”

A pair of hands were prodding at me, small and warm, checking my pulse, feeling my forehead, poking at my broken arm…

“Owww.” I moaned in protest, waving my good arm about at an attempt to swat away the intruder. “Ger’off.”

“Master? Are you awake?” Came Pudding’s voice from somewhere above me, and the poking abruptly stopped. “Master, if you can, please sit up for me, lean against my hand now, come on, try to sit up.”

I was too tired to disobey him, and though my whole body tried its hardest to resist me, I managed to sit up, my heavy, aching head lolling down between my knees, eyes still half-lidded.

“Well, that’s a start,” Pudding sighed, and I felt his hand again, rubbing at my back this time, “what on earth happened here, Master Attendant? Tempura and I thought we’d warded that Fallen off! Thank the Gods that Brownie was still with you, I should’ve remembered him saying just how powerful his blaster was, you should see the holes it made in that Fallen!”

Eventually, and with a fair amount of grunts and groans on my part, I managed to raise my head. The chamber was no longer shrouded in darkness, someone had lit the torches donning the walls, filling the stone room with brilliant, dancing light. The sight of the flames made me feel sick, and I was about to dip my head down again, when another face suddenly appeared beside Pudding’s, a rounder, kinder face.

 _“M-Morag?”_ I stammered, my voice choked with exhaustion and relief, my eyes burning as tears suddenly welled up within them, trickling, unchecked down my face. “You’re alive!”

“Kinda,” Morag replied somewhat shakily, in the light cast by the torches, she looked sickly, shivery and pale, and her eyes looked almost sunken due to the dark shadows ringed around them, “I’m just dehydrated – well – your Puddin’ thinks that’s the case anyway, but he says we can’t leave yet, somethin’ about another Food Soul who’s injured. Tell you what, Nonna, it was lucky your lot found me, I’ve been down here for days trying to find my way back out. Big idiot that I am, I came down here without the proper supplies packed, Brownie and I got separated at the first Fallen attack and… Well, the rest is history, I feel so bad, he must’ve been going spare without me.”

“How… Is he?” I asked, vaguely remembering Brownie’s condition.

“Well, he’s not gonna be making me a hot chocolate any time soon,” Morag replied, trying to smile and almost managing it, “but he’s alright, I think. He’s conscious and he’s talking, he just needs a Support Soul to give him the once over, we _all_ do. Here, if you give me your hand, I can try and help you up.”

Somehow, with Pudding and Morag’s help, I was able to stand up once again, though my arm still throbbed and my head still ached, I found that I was surprisingly steady on my feet. Even for me, I was in pretty good shape considering how much I’d bashed myself around.  
As I began to look around, I noticed – with a wave of relief – Tempura talking to a bleary-eyed but clearly alive Brownie behind me, as well as the sickening combination of blood and viscera staining the stone floor, along with that odd, colourful substance I’d seen reflected in the light of my torch…

Then, it all came back to me with a crash, and gasped, so loudly that Morag stumbled away from me in shock.

“That… That other… That other guy!” I yelped, spinning where I stood, gesticulating wildly as if that would help. “He got, ugh… Blyat! That Fallen _wrecked_ him, is he…!”

“He’s over here.” Pudding said, grim-faced, taking a few steps away from me and towards the far end of the chamber. “He’s who your fellow Attendant was referring to just now. He’s definitely a Food Soul, though I must say I’ve never seen one like him in all my time on this planet.”

Alight with fear and curiosity, I followed Pudding closely, trying my best not to step in the Fallen’s guts or any of its blood as I moved, but soon enough, getting my shoes dirty became the very last thing on my mind. Thanks to the light now flooding the chamber, I was finally able to see the rogue Food Soul who had come to mine and Brownie’s aid.  
I’d been right, the Fallen really had wrecked him, there wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t bloodied, or dented, or sparking slightly, but the more I looked at him, the more confused I became. His eyes and wings weren’t the only odd things about him, on the contrary, every part of him was odd; he didn’t seem organic at all with his clearly mechanical arm and hands; the way he continued to short out on the floor before me, and the faint yet audible _whirring_ I could now hear coming from him; though it seemed to be skipping and spluttering continuously as he struggled to breathe through airways clogged with blood.

“I don’t… But… How is he… How is he _bleeding?”_ I blurted out, I had a metric ton of questions backed up in my mind about him, but that one had really been the most prominent. “I mean, look at him! He’s a machine, right? I know Tierra is weird, Pudding, but machines do _not_ bleed!”

“Never mind _how_ he’s bleeding, Master Attendant.” Pudding replied shortly, turning on his heel and marching back towards Tempura. “You should be worrying about the fact that he _is_ bleeding, and rather a lot. Tempura! Come on, I said that as soon as the Master was up again, we would start to make our way out. Leave the torches, they’ll burn themselves out in due time.”

“Nonna…” 

Morag’s voice came from behind me, and I suddenly felt her warm hand on my shoulder, alive and thrumming with a pulse.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said, and I could hear the promise of tears choked up in her throat, “for coming all this way to find me. I really, truly thought I’d die down here, but you proved me so wrong, I don’t know how I’m ever gonna repay you for this.”

As bloody and sweaty and disgusting as I was, Morag didn’t object when I turned around to hug her and hold her close, my good hand curling into the fabric of her shirt, holding back more tears of my own.

“I don’t… Need repaying,” I sniffed, “I just wanna get out of these _fucking catacombs.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F UC K M E UP.
> 
> Hoo boy! I gotta add some more tags in, what do y'all think? I reckon this is the goriest this thing is going to get so, don't worry, guys! Just make sure to read the tags before you check out this one, okay? Aight.
> 
> FINALLY I get to write B-52, he's been my absolute favourite since I started playing this cursed gacha game, and I've always liked the fact that he gets found in the catacombs in his backstory. Lemme tell you guys, though, I really wouldn't want to run into him in the dark like Nonna did in the last chapter, hoo boy, B - I love you, but you would be terrifying in the pitch dark.
> 
> Enjoy!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

Our ascent out of those dark, narrow passageways was a slow and tedious one. 

Fortunately however, for all of the injuries he’d suffered throughout our time in the catacombs, Brownie had managed to summon up the strength to stand, and was now hobbling along beside me, leaning against me lightly for support.

That didn’t make things any easier for Tempura and Pudding however, whose journey out was made all the more laborious by the huge, mechanical Food Soul they carried between them. Though they’d managed to find an efficient way of ferrying him along – with Tempura’s hands hooked beneath his armpits and Pudding bringing up the rear with his legs – it still looked incredibly awkward. Not that either of them would ever complain, really I was amazed that any of our party had any strength left at all, but we were all still in tact, even _Morag_ had managed to conjure up some energy, and had volunteered to lead the way, one of the torches from the chamber gripped tightly in her hand. 

Though the glow of finding Morag still hung over us, the damp, dark tunnels still caused a sense of dread to linger within our stomachs, so, naturally, conversation started up in some attempt to dispel it, initiated by a still grim-faced Brownie.

“Miss Attendant, I wondered if I might ask you something?” He inquired in a hushed yet serious tone, his voice still hoarse from everything he’d been through.

“Yeah?” I mumbled out a reply, wondering why on earth just the sound of his voice was enough to send my stomach twisting itself into knots yet again.

“Back there when I ‘passed out’,” the Magic Soul continued, his ice blue eyes glinting oddly in the torchlight flickering up ahead, “I was still aware enough to make some sense of what was going on, noises, bright lights and the like. Miss Attendant, I must confess that this will eat me alive if I do not ask you. How… How did you know how to use my gun so well?”

It was as if the walls around us had suddenly started to close in, damp and cold, squeezing the air out of my lungs, causing my eyes to pop out of their sockets with the pressure. Dimly, I fiercely reminded myself that I couldn’t afford to break down again, and with something close to anger, I wrenched myself back to reality, a harsh breath escaping my lips.

“It just doesn’t add up,” Brownie went on, shaking his head, “I know I told you and Pudding how it all worked and how you would fire it, but I oversimplified quite a lot! You need _training_ to use it in the way you did. _I_ needed training, and it’s _calibrated_ to my height and weight, it was made specifically for me to use!”

“Well, we’re kind of the same height,” I offered hopefully, keeping my face averted from him, “maybe that…”

“No, no! That doesn’t make sense either.” Brownie interrupted, trying his best to speak above the sudden bout of pained groaning coming from the Food Soul held between Tempura and Pudding; the sound cut through me like a knife. 

“Please, don’t think I’m angry with you, Miss Attendant, Gods no! You should take all of this as a compliment, the way you used it was phenomenal! I doubt very highly that the skills you demonstrated were all down to an adrenaline rush, you used _technique!_ It wasn’t guesswork at all, you looked as though you knew exactly what you were doing.”

I could feel my face burning at his words, even in the chill of the catacombs, it felt like someone had lit a fire behind my cheeks. It wasn’t a compliment, none of this was even the slightest bit complimentary to me.

“Tell me,” Brownie spoke, “have you been _trained_ to use firearms? O-Only because…!”

He faltered at the utterly poisonous look I gave him, but to my dismay, he ploughed on despite his unease.

“Only because, if you have, it puts yourself and your Food Souls at a colossal advantage! Many of us have to worry about protecting our Masters from the Fallen as well as performing our culinary duties! If you’re able to fend off a Fallen as big as that, think of how much trouble that could save you all! Why, you could even have a gun of your own made especially for y…”

“No.” I said sharply, cutting the Magic Soul off. “I don’t want a damned gun.”

“But why ever not?” Brownie cried, his voice echoing slightly in the dank air. “With all due respect, Miss Attendant, if you were able to use mine in the way that you did, think of what you could do with one made just for you! One with the right weight and length; one that would ensure that you get the best possible use out of your skills, I guarantee it’ll be…”

“I said _no,_ Brownie, for heaven’s sake! Please, just take no for an answer!”

There was a very tense pause, in which the only sounds we could here were the crunching of our footsteps, and the echo of my voice rolling about the stone walls. Ahead of us, I saw Pudding turn his head towards me, confusion creasing his normally smooth brow, I chanced a smile towards him and he mercifully turned away, murmuring what I could only assume were words of comfort to his distressed cargo.

I surveyed Brownie with cold eyes, noting with some satisfaction that my raised voice appeared to have shut him up, but I couldn’t help feeling a little guilty too, his heart was in the right place after all.

“There’s one thing you need to understand about me, Brownie,” I began sternly, “just because I’m good with a gun does _not_ mean I should use one. I… Can’t stand the wretched things, their only purpose is to kill and maim, that’s all they’ve ever done. Why would I want something like that?”

Brownie didn’t respond, in fact he looked rather afraid to do so, but then again, my question had been largely in rhetoric. I spared his blaster a glance, strapped to his back once again and gleaming threateningly in the firelight up ahead, I gritted my teeth.

“What you saw back there with the Fallen… That was a mistake,” I murmured, “please, forget that it ever happened.”

-

As we exited the suffocating walls of the catacombs, I felt as if I’d been born again. 

The inviting glow of daylight and the warm mid morning sun shining down onto my face was like a blessing, one that made me stop in my tracks and coax a breath of relief from me. The rest of my party appeared to be enjoying the sensation too, as a series of contented sighs rang out among us, accompanied by a gentle creaking of metal as Tempura and Pudding moved around me to prop the mechanical Food Soul down against a grassy bank. Despite his moans of pain on our way out, he seemed utterly unresponsive now, and his head lolled almost comically sideways onto his shoulder as he was set down, his mouth hanging open. The sight caused my stomach to lurch, though whether it was purely out of pity, I couldn’t quite tell.

After making sure Brownie and Morag had comfortable places to sit, I turned my attention back to his plight, a grimace slowly forming across my face as I moved closer.

“Do you think we should try and find help here?” I asked the two Food Souls, remembering just how viciously the Fallen had attacked him, blow after blow. “He’s a mess, it’s going to take some kind of professional to fix him by the looks of it, and he’s no picnic to carry. You two can’t ferry him all the way back to Gloriville, surely, you’re both exhausted.”

“I’ve felt worse, Attendant.” Tempura said with a grin, but despite the jovial façade, he was at the end of his tether, I could tell by the way his knees shook slightly with the strain of supporting his weight.

“We really should rest first before doing anything else,” Pudding stated, wiping his glasses thoroughly on the front of his waistcoat, golden eyes fixed on the twitching Soul, “but… I don’t much like the idea of leaving the poor fellow like this. He’s in a very bad way, Master Attendant, I really don’t know if we’ll be able to salvage him as he is now, leaving him to get worse might finish him off for good.”

“Is there a… A town nearby or something?” I asked, turning to scan our surroundings. “We’re on a border, right? There has to be a village or an Inn, or…”

I trailed off, allowing the sounds of our surroundings to envelop me, but I had heard something else too, besides the rustle of the grass and the chirp of birds nesting in the trees, drawing nearer and nearer with each passing second. For a few moments, none of us dared to say a word, until the faint creaking and clicking grew clearer, clearer enough for me to distinguish the sound of wheels rattling and hooves thudding gently across the grass. 

Curious, I turned my head towards the sound, squinting against the sunlight, Tempura and Pudding mimicked me, and soon enough the source of the noise revealed itself to us.  
Ambling its way up the path we’d walked the previous night was an enormous, grey horse, so huge that the rickety wooden cart it pulled along behind it seemed minuscule in comparison. As I watched, the horse’s pace began to slow, its giant hooves leaving a trail of indents in the grass until it finally came to a halt, whinnying gently and tossing its head, apparently enjoying the sunlight too.

Because of the sun still streaming its way into my eyes, I didn’t immediately see that the horse hadn’t come alone. But sure enough, seated atop the cart I soon became aware of the shapes of two women, moving to step down from their seats, talking to one another in low yet somewhat frantic voices. 

Though I still couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about the species that stood out to me, I immediately realised that one of the women was a Food Soul; one that I’d never seen before. Much like my first meeting with Yuxiang, her beauty almost took my breath away and yet again I found myself thinking of a doll; as my eyes roved over her neatly styled, chestnut brown hair, kind green eyes and heart-shaped face. Even her dress, which could only be described as a mass of lace and ruffles, flowing around her in beige and cream waves as if the very fabric were sentient, looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. 

Despite the sense of enchantment warming my chest – once I had caught sight of her – the second woman elicited no such reaction for me, and it didn’t take long for a sense of dread to quickly choke back any content I’d managed to drum up since leaving the catacombs.

“Is that…?” Pudding started to say beside me, but he petered out with what sounded oddly like a startled little squeak. It was easily the funniest noise I’d ever heard him make.

“Hey!” Tempura shouted happily beside me, raising a massive hand above his head to wave at the women stood beside the cart. “It’s Madam Olivia and her Food Soul! I haven’t seen them since the last time I was in Gloriville!”

Olivia didn’t wait, it was almost as if Tempura’s voice was the starting gun, and she was an athlete just dying to cross the finish line first. Ignoring the frantic words of the Food Soul beside her, she moved like a bullet through the wind, her eyes trained directly on my face.

Quite suddenly, I found myself wishing that I were back down in the catacombs.

“She doesn’t look too happy, does she?” Tempura muttered, all traces of mirth gone.

Olivia kept going, her footsteps somehow sounded louder than even the horse’s had done. There was a commotion beside the cart, and the Food Soul came haring after her, her hands overflowing with layer after layer of her dress as she fought to keep it out from underfoot.

“Master Attendant, please! Don’t be too hard on her, she looks exhausted!”

Olivia didn’t listen, preferring instead to shoot a scathing look towards Brownie and Morag before finally reaching Pudding, Tempura and I, her nostrils flaring with a long, loud breath.

“What on _earth_ were you thinking of, Noyabrina?” She whispered, venom laced in every syllable. “I don’t even know where to begin! Barging into Mister Pan’s shop, summoning a Food Soul without my knowledge, _abandoning_ your restaurant without a second thought! Is this a game to you, Noyabrina? Were all the warnings I gave to you not enough? Did I not make it perfectly clear that I could’ve given your position to _any_ other candidate?” 

“Master Attendant!” Came the haggard voice of the Food Soul once again, shriller and louder than Olivia’s. She had reached us now, her green eyes brimming with tears and her cheeks rouged with the force of her running. 

“Please! I beg of you, save whatever you have to say to her for later! Look at them all! These people need healing, they need _rest!_ At least let us get them away from here first, how can you expect her to give you a straight answer when she and her friends are dead on their feet? Think of what they’ve been through, as reckless as they were, their actions were still noble and as foolish as they may be, their hearts were still in the right place.” 

Olivia wore an unreadable expression on her face, one halfway between relenting and carrying on with her tirade. For a second, I thought that she was about to scream at the both of us, but to my great surprise she put up her hands, shaking her head in dismay.

“Unbelievable, completely unacceptable. Foolish hearts indeed, very well, Tiramisu, you’d best help them into the cart, I’d like to leave this awful place as soon as possible.”

-

As it turned out, helping us into the cart was far easier said than done; with the struggle once again owed to the enormous Food Soul and the height of the cart. Even with help, Tempura and Pudding still had a hard time lifting him up, the giant, ruined wings he had strapped to his back didn’t help either, and it took the effort of all three of us to get them off of him. I’d been quite right in assuming that his body was mainly mechanical, both his weight and the cold, hard feeling of metal nestled just beneath the synthetic skin of his arms and torso only reinforced my suspicions. 

I could still feel Olivia glaring daggers into the back of my neck as I helped, but by the time we had laid the mechanical Food Soul down inside the cart, every pair of hands that had helped to move him were stained with his blood. It was no doubt because of this macabre sight that Olivia chose not to talk for the whole journey back, for which I was extremely grateful.

In stark contrast to her silence however, “Tiramisu’s” voice was never absent from the cart for long, and it frequently rang out in amongst the thudding of the horse’s hooves up front.

“Incredible. I’ve never seen a Soul like him before,” she was saying, one of the strange Soul’s massive hands held between her smaller, softer ones, her fingers tracing over every groove, every joint, examining the metal carefully, “he’s in such an awful state… I must be honest, I’m an experienced Support Soul, but I’m not entirely sure if my powers will do him any good. He’s bleeding, so there’s definitely organic material… _Somewhere,_ but…”

“Won’t you try anyway?” I asked, my hands bundled tightly in my lap, fingers and palms rubbing together, trying with all my might to get his blood off of my hands, but it clung to my skin stubbornly, almost like glue. “Something is better than nothing, surely. Brownie and I would be dead without his help, I don’t want to see him… Well, you know.”

As if to emphasise my point, the Food Soul twitched before me, a shuddering, rattling noise leaving him as he struggled to draw breath, blood bubbling up in his nostrils.

Tiramisu sighed, a careful hand sweeping back the hair from her patient’s forehead, examining the harm the Fallen had done to his face, she seemed to be thinking, weighing up her options.  
In broad daylight, the damage looked positively horrific, his left eye socket was smashed in completely, and the force of the blow had stripped back the fake skin of his cheek and jaw, allowing the plating, joints and wires to show through, glinting in the sunlight streaming down from above. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was no doubt in terrible pain, I would’ve been beside myself with interest.

Whoever was responsible for building him had certainly been a master of their craft, it was a marvel how everything smoothly joined together, and how the metal had been honed and moulded perfectly to mimic a human shape. Even the teeth that I could see peeking through the gaps in the blood-flecked metalwork of his cheek looked identical to how they would in a human’s skull. It was odd, but the knowledge that so much thought and care and pure, raw _skill_ had gone into constructing something like this, made me almost want to smile. I could only ever dream of being _that_ good, to be able to create such an intricate being with my bare hands.

“I don’t think it is too late for him,” Tiramisu was saying, though her voice sounded muffled, far away, “my powers should heal him, they _should._ Most of his suffering is definitely due to the damage caused to whatever organic material he has. So I will do my utmost to help there, but from then on, Miss Attendant, I’m afraid that you are on your own.”

“Yeah, okay.” I replied, though I wasn’t quite sure what I was agreeing to, I was incredibly tired after all, and the struggle to get the mechanical Soul up onto the cart had irritated my damaged arm. It throbbed dully, cradled limply in my lap, the fingers twitching restlessly.

Soon enough, I felt my back meet the edge of the cart, the harsh wood pressing against my flesh, but any surface seemed comfortable to me at that moment. I watched with an odd, sleepy sort of interest as Tiramisu rolled up her sleeves, her hands skimming over the Soul’s torso, his arms, his face, green sparks following in her fingers’ wake. They spread across his body, targeting the damage, sinking deep into the metal, no doubt aiming to reach what organic matter they could find. Despite Tiramisu’s work, it really didn’t seem as if it was doing him much good, he still looked as wrecked as ever…

“There now,” she said almost tenderly to him, her voice once again marred by that far away, muffled quality, “that’s better, isn’t it? That’s better…”

I could feel myself slipping away into some an uneasy, disturbed sleep; I knew it was only a matter of time until the darkness fizzling gently at the corners of my vision would overtake me. My eyes slowly fluttered shut, a sigh leaving me as I finally drifted off to sleep, but not before I noted – with some relief – that the Food Soul’s strained, desperate attempts to breathe had levelled out into long, deep intakes of air, grasping at what oxygen he could through his newly cleared airways. 

Hopefully he would be able to rest properly now.

-  
Yībù yīgè jiǎoyìn. 

-  
_There was an utterly _delicious_ smell wafting its way through the air around my nose, buttery and fresh, an aroma that warmed me from the inside out, filling me with strength, conjuring up a picture in my mind. A newly baked loaf of butterbrot being pulled gently out of an oven – no oven gloves? Oy blin, be careful! Or you’ll burn your hands, Mister… Mis…_

I opened my eyes, and was immediately greeted with the sight of Pudding seated next to me, a plate full of fresh, golden bread in his hand, cut into perfectly equal slices. 

“I thought that would rouse you, Master,” he said, amused, moving the plate away from my nose so he could select a slice to hand to me, “here, eat. Tiramisu said that she’d prefer it if you ate before she heals you, apparently magic and an empty stomach don’t go together.”

Still groggy with sleep, I took the bread from him, realising as I did so that I was in my bed back at the restaurant, the still unfamiliar room illuminated with the soft, golden glow of sunset shining in through my dusty windows.

“Thanks, Pudding. Um, have I been asleep all day?” I asked through a mouthful of bread, ignoring the Magic Soul’s sigh of despair as crumbs tumbled from my lips and onto the sheets below.

“Yes, so has everyone else, really.” He replied, turning to set the plate down onto my bedside table. “I must say, you’re ridiculously lucky that you fell asleep in the cart, Master Attendant, you’ve delayed your lecture from Madam Olivia by quite a considerable amount of time. She was called away to some important Guild conference in Nevras almost the moment we arrived here, and she won’t be back until tomorrow evening, so I recommend that you build up a convincing explanation for yourself until then.”

“What is there to explain?” I sighed, trying my best to pick the breadcrumbs off of my sheets. “Considering what she said to me, she already knows exactly what I did, I think hearing it all again will just make her angrier.”

“Perhaps, but explaining your intention may soften her,” Pudding pointed out, “your fellow Attendant was in grave peril, her Food Soul came to you for assistance and you wanted to help. While it would’ve been wiser – far wiser – to alert Madam Olivia, your actions still lead to the preservation of a human life. That has to count for something.”

“I guess,” I replied dully, reaching across Pudding to swipe another slice of bread, but as I did so, my mind suddenly shook off the last remnants of sleep, and a whole hoard of memories came hurtling back to me, “w-wait – wait! Where’s that Food Soul? The one we rescued? Brownie and Morag too! Are they here?”

“Tempura and I will be able to fit Brownie and his Attendant in our rooms for the time being,” Pudding began gently, sounding very much as if he’d been waiting for me to ask those very questions, “Tiramisu advised them that it would be best to go home tomorrow morning. As for that other Soul, he’s in the stock room.”

“Why the…”

“It was the only place we had left. Don’t look alarmed, Master, we constructed a little makeshift bed for him there, he’s far too big to fit in any of the beds up here. You’ll be pleased to know that he’s better, Tiramisu even managed to get a few words out of him, though he isn’t too happy about the state he’s in.”

“I wouldn’t be either,” I sighed, thinking back to the sight of him sprawled out in the cart, “machinery kind of needs to be in good shape in order to work properly.”

“Quite. But he’s resting now, so put him out of your mind for the time being. Now, I’ve been told to ask you to come downstairs when you feel you have the strength, you’re the only person Tiramisu hasn’t healed.”

“There really isn’t much to heal, I’m fine,” I insisted, settling myself back down into my bed, the thought of getting out of it was really most unattractive, “I’m just run down.”

“She didn’t seem to think so,” Pudding retorted, his eyebrows raised, “what with the state of your arm.”

“My arm?”

Frowning, I glanced down at my arms, wiggling both sets of fingers curiously until I realised what he was talking about with a jolt of panic. Yes, I’d broken it hadn’t I? Or had I? I know I’d felt a _crack,_ but…

“Or not,” Pudding spoke again, and through my panic, I could hear the confusion laced in his voice, “how odd. Tiramisu was sure you’d broken it, but you seem to be moving it just fine. Is it sore at all?”

“Y-Yeah,” I mumbled, it wasn’t a lie, both my arms ached a little, though I was having trouble remembering exactly which arm I’d supposedly damaged, “m-maybe I… Maybe I just sprained it.”

“Either way, she wants to see you, so don’t be long.” 

I watched helplessly as he left, his apron swishing in his wake, I knew that as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stay in bed forever, but from what I’d seen of her so far, Tiramisu didn’t ask too many questions. Perhaps I would be okay.

Soon enough, I was ambling my way down the stairs, holding onto the bannister for support as I went, perhaps Pudding had been right, perhaps letting the Support Soul heal me wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

However, the sight that greeted me in the dining room was enough to purge most worries from my mind, for the picture of Morag and Brownie sitting and talking with Pudding and Tempura felt so right to see. I stood at the foot of the stairs, a smile well on its way to spreading across my face, and as I made my way over to them, Morag glanced around, her face lighting up with relief.

“Nonna! How are you feeling? You look better than you did, sit down, sit down!”

“I’m fair enough,” I replied, pulling up a chair next to her, noticing the silhouette of Tiramisu illuminated against the front windows as I did so, “just tired and a little sore. It’s good to see you looking better, though, I…”

I could’ve gone on, but I quite suddenly found myself interrupted by Tiramisu, who swept over to the table, that soft, sympathetic expression once again set firmly on her face.

“Oh, Miss Attendant, it’s lovely to see you awake at last.” She sighed warmly, and before I could protest, she had reached down to pluck my arm off of my lap, examining it carefully with her soft hands, I held my breath. Soon enough, my worst fears were confirmed, as Tiramisu suddenly frowned and reached across me to pick up my other arm, scanning the two carefully, her eyebrows quirked quizzically.

“You did hurt your arm while you were down there, didn’t you, Miss…”

“Yeah, yeah I did,” I blurted out, shaking my left arm free of Tiramisu’s grip, “it’s my right one, I thought I’d broken it, but I think I might’ve just sprained it, or maybe fractured it. Everything that happened down there is kind of a blur, but my right arm definitely doesn’t feel right.”

The Support Soul eyed me carefully, green eyes scanning every inch of my face, as if searching for some trace of deceit. I swallowed nervously, for such a gentle woman I could tell why she worked so well with Olivia, that trademark stare seemed to exist in them both.

“Very well,” she finally replied, “it _does_ look like you’re holding it strangely, and your heart rate isn’t as good as it could be. Hold still for me, please, Miss Attendant.”

I obeyed her, watching closely as those green sparks once again rose from the tips of her fingers and the palms of her hands. They danced across her flesh merrily before skittering across to run up my own arm, over my shoulders, up into my face before travelling down my chest and stomach, leaving a wonderful sense of _wellness_ everywhere they roamed.

Tiramisu, who must’ve noticed the stupid grin slowly growing on my face, smiled dotingly back, and as the last of the green sparks disappeared beneath my skin, she moved away, sweeping a few imaginary specs of dust from the front of her dress.

“Well. I believe that I have done all I can here, I’m afraid I have to leave you all. My Master requires my attendance in Nevras and I have a long journey ahead of me.”

“Can I make you something for the journey?” I asked her, the boost Tiramisu’s magic had given me had left me feeling quite emotional. “You’ve done so much for us, Tiramisu, it feels pretty bad of me to let you go empty handed.”

“All I desire is to see you well again, Miss Attendant,” she replied, reaching down to tenderly thread a hand through my hair, teasing out a small knot with practiced and gentle fingers, “that goes for _all_ of you. To see each and every one of you happy and healthy is all I need to keep me going. So please, for my sake, stay out of those dreadful catacombs in the future… Alright?”

With the sound of everyone around the table murmuring their assent, Tiramisu took her leave, her delicate dress flowing out behind her, as if elevated by a warm summer breeze. I watched her go sadly, my chest filled with a feeling that I couldn’t quite pinpoint, it was a hollow, tight sensation, a urge to call after her, to ask her please, _don’t go._

“Would anyone like me to boil the kettle?” Pudding asked, breaking the heavy silence with the scraping of his chair. “I think it would do us good if we all had something to do with our hands. You certainly look as if you could do with some tea, Master Attendant.”

“Yeah. Yeah alright,” I sighed, turning back to offer the rest of the table a small, sad smile, “thanks, Pudding.”

He had been out of the room no less than a minute, when a sudden clattering from somewhere to my right caught my attention. I turned my head curiously, my eyes searching for the source of the noise until they rested on a door just to the right of the stairs. I really hadn’t had much of an opportunity to even _look_ into the stockroom since my arrival in Gloriville, let alone start to store food in there, so the whole room was – as of yet – completely unfamiliar to me. As I continued to stare, the clattering noise came again, accompanied by an unmistakeable loud exhalation of breath.

“Sounds like your friend is awake,” Morag piped up from beside me, her voice quiet, oddly subdued, “Tiramisu said he can’t walk too well, maybe we should…”

“I’ll go and see him,” I interrupted, pushing my chair back from the table and getting to my feet, ignoring the sudden feeling of foreboding that had started to form in the pit of my stomach, like clouds gathering before a storm, “I’d like to see him anyway. I ah… I need to say thank you. I’d be far, far worse off than I am now if I weren’t for him.”

“Agreed,” came Brownie’s voice from somewhere behind me, “be gentle with him, Miss Attendant, I think he’s still a little confused.”

Nodding, I stepped towards the stockroom, stretching out a hand to push open the already ajar door. I immediately found myself accosted with near darkness, pressing itself against my eyes as if to deliberately blind me. Squinting a little, I shuffled inside, opening the door as widely as it would go in an attempt to light my way, and to my relief I found that the soft, golden glow from the dining room did indeed help, albeit only slightly.  
The room now illuminated faintly before me was extremely cluttered, the walls were lined with shelves, stuffed to bursting point with old pots and pans, jugs, sieves and other such things that really ought to have been brought through into the kitchen, I could remember looking for a spare pot just yesterday! The floor too was laden with utensils, stacked into large wooden crates that had been pushed up against the little space left in the walls. Whoever had lived in this restaurant before me had certainly made use of the space given to them, or perhaps this was where all of their things had been haphazardly stuffed after what had happened to them…

With that rather horrible thought now swimming about in my brain, I took a few more steps inside the room, wincing as each step I took seemed to kick up a rather alarming amount of dust, illuminated clearly by the light from outside. As my eyes eventually adjusted to the gloom, I soon realised that I was seeing almost everything except the Food Soul we’d rescued.

“Hello?” I called softly.

No answer.

Something akin to a finger of ice was slowly but surely trailing its way down my spine, making me tense up and shiver violently, despite the warmth of the air around me. This wasn’t right, something was incredibly wrong about this whole thing, I couldn’t see him anywhere, which was very strange considering how large he was, and as I moved deeper into the stockroom, I fought to squash down the fear slowly rising up in my stomach. This was _stupid,_ I told myself angrily, there was no reason for me to be afraid, he’d saved Brownie and I after all; why was even the mere _thought_ of being alone in this dark room with him so utterly, breathtakingly terrifying?

Then, from behind a large crate to my immediate left, something enormous moved, and as my head snapped around, I finally caught sight of him. He was huddled in a corner, his gigantic, trembling frame illuminated ever so slightly by the light peeking in through a small window positioned halfway up the wall, and of course, by the piercing blue light of his working eye.

For a moment, we stared at one another, neither of us moving or talking, we seemed almost transfixed by one another, and I could’ve sworn that I’d seen him wear that exact same expression back in the catacombs. As I stood rooted to the spot, he slowly tilted his head with an almost musical clicking of metal, a soft whirring suddenly starting up from somewhere deep in his chest. That blue eye shone on, unblinking, unwavering.

“Um,” I began, my voice trembling ever so slightly, “hello there. How… Ah… How are you feeling?”

He didn’t reply, not at first, preferring instead to keep on staring, that odd whirring only increasing in volume, until the whole room was full of it. 

“… Cocktail… B-52…”

“Sorry?” I queried, moving a little closer to him; struck by how oddly soft his voice was, coming from such a big man, I’d expected it to…

**”Attack.”**

I had _no_ time to react.

In a matter of seconds, he had stood up from his corner, lurching out from behind the crates, his face set and his arm drawn back. All I could think to do was _begin_ to scream, a short, pitiful sound that ended in a gargle as I was smashed into the opposite wall. I felt the cold, unforgiving wood meet my back, and the horrible sensation of my ribs shattering like glass. A series of crashes from somewhere above me told me that the contents of the shelves lining the walls had been knocked askew by the force of the blow. 

With everything crashing down around my aching head, I felt myself collide with the floor, my eyes rolling in their sockets as my consciousness once again slipped away from me. All I had time to see and hear before I blacked out, was the bright, blue light of the Food Soul’s eye from somewhere above me, and the panicked shouts of the others in the dining room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest in Peace.
> 
> SO! This chapter is super long, but we've reached Chapter 10! We're definitely in the main story now, no more farting about in the restaurant, from this point on things are going to get really, really real.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> 一步一个脚印 / Yībù yīgè jiǎoyìn - Every step leaves a footprint.


	11. (Break.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Interval 1._

“I have reason to believe that one of your employees came across something of mine in the catacombs beneath the Nevras border.”

The room was quiet, corporate and chilly despite the fire roaring merrily in the hearth set into a nearby wall. It flickered and danced, illuminating the handsome décor of the room, the gilded chairs, the polished wood floors, the marble statues and busts positioned in corners and upon various shelves. It was easily one of the grandest rooms inside one of the grandest buildings this side of Nevras, and the room’s occupants knew that very well.

“Ah, so that Soul is linked to you, is he? I did wonder how she’d managed to come across one like that,” came a voice in reply to the first, a hint of hesitation clearly chewing away at the speaker, “am I right in assuming that it was you who set up the reward for whoever put a stop to all the commotion down there?”

“You are indeed,” the first voice sounded again, accompanied by the gentle ‘clink’ of another drink being poured, “from what I understand, most new Cooking Attendants in both Nevras and Gloriville struggle with finances. So I deduced that putting a handsome price on his head would lead _someone_ to go down and fetch him for me.”

“He was the one upsetting the Fallen there, then?”

“Oh yes,” a sigh sounded throughout the room, a heavy, bored noise, “he’s been quite a nuisance lately, really I should’ve been notified of his retrieval much sooner, but somehow his tracker must’ve come loose.”

“Whatever he encountered in those catacombs did him a lot of damage, that was probably what did it. I ought to inform you that he’s made quite a mess of himself.”

“No matter, he has been in my service for a great number of years now, I assure you that I have people here who are more than capable of fixing him.”

A silence fell, a tense and uneasy one, in which the majority of the room appeared to pause and take tentative sips from their glasses, the first speaker did not, however, and preferred instead to sit back in their chair, eyes glinting dangerously in the firelight.

“I should like him back as soon as possible, of course, I’ll be more than happy to present your employee with her reward, in person perhaps. I was thinking of travelling to Gloriville anyway, a few patrons of mine have been requesting that I pay them a visit for quite some time. Ah – you look troubled, madam – is there something the matter?”

“I just feel as though I should warn you,” the second person spoke again, their fingers drumming restlessly on the surface of the mahogany table top, “Noyabrina… Has shown that she often has trouble respecting those in positions of authority. Going down into the catacombs without my knowledge or permission wasn’t the first of her mistakes; just be aware that she may not be as polite or courteous to you as most Cooking Attendants are.” 

“I see. Well, I am never one to back down from a challenge, madam,” came the amused reply, “rest assured that in most cases, the vast majority of rule-breakers back down rather quickly when presented with a large amount of gold. I am sure that Noyabrina and I will end up getting along _just fine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear... 
> 
> I guess you could count this as a little break or interval from the main story? I just wanted to include a few of these throughout. in order to give you guys a bit of fresh air regarding who's POV we read from. Even though there's no set POV here, I'm aiming for these to be little snippets into other parts of Tierra, where the main protagonist is not present.
> 
> Enjoy!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

I woke up with a dull ache in my chest.

I didn’t immediately open my eyes, preferring instead to snuggle a little deeper into the warm sheets, breathing in the comforting scent of a newly washed pillowcase. A voice sounded from somewhere beside me, soft yet muffled, accompanied by the warmth of a hand resting atop my shoulder. Still addled with sleep, I felt myself smile and twist my arm about until I’d laced my fingers with those of the person beside me.

“Zdravstvuyte, lyubimiy…”

“Uh. Master Attendant?”

**Fuck.**

Startled awake by the familiar voice, I snapped open my eyes to find Tempura sitting opposite my bed, looking utterly bewildered at the unprompted hand holding. For a moment we simply stared at each other, apparently both equally at a loss as to what to do, until I finally pulled my hand away and rolled over onto my back to stare up at the ceiling, utterly mortified.

“S-Sorry. Sorry, Tempura, I thought…”

“It’s fine, you were dreaming, right?” Tempura laughed, his usual upbeat mood set firmly back into place, I could hear the grin in his voice. “Heh, sounded like you were dreaming about someone pretty special too, does he have a name?”

I pursed my lips at that, I knew fully well that Tempura didn’t mean any harm, but that particular question stung more than he could’ve ever known, and he couldn’t know, none of my team could. But there were more pressing matters on my mind, mainly the faint memories that were now crawling their way back into my brain. The dark stockroom, the searing pain of my ribs splintering, and the furious yet terrified look on the mechanical Food Soul’s face as he’d attacked, that _oh so familiar_ look.

“There isn’t a ‘he’, Tempura, I was just dreaming. Um, listen… Do you mind telling me what happened? That big Food Soul smashed me about a bit, right? But… I don’t _feel_ smashed.”

“Huh, didn’t think you’d be able to talk about it so casually,” Tempura commented, slouching a little in his chair, his gigantic hands plastered on his thighs, “you’ve been out for a day or so, Pudding managed to call Tiramisu back before she got too far, and she fixed you right up. She’s still here actually, I was gonna call her when you woke up.”

“I’ve been out for a _day?”_ I yelped, sitting bolt upright in my bed and immediately regretting it, I sank back onto my pillows, hissing with discomfort. “Ugh, ek. Y-You guys still opened the restaurant, right?”

“You bet we did! Pudding and I had Tiramisu, Brownie and his Attendant helping out too, so we did pretty well today! A few people kept asking where you were, though.”

“The customers?”

“Yeah! I didn’t know any of them, but they said they were regulars; they were all really fired up! Word on the street is that _someone_ and her Food Souls put a stop to all the trouble at the Nevras border,” he replied, a cheeky grin spreading its way across his face, “wonder who that might’ve been, huh?”

“Ahah,” I muttered, trying to mirror his cheery expression, but that was easier said than done with everything that was running through my head, “I didn’t really plan to end up well known because of that mess. While we’re on the subject, though, um… How _is_ that Food Soul? Is he alright?”

“Surprised you’re asking about him,” Tempura grumbled, his brow furrowing, “he hasn’t said a word to me, just sat in the stock room all day and sulked. Tiramisu went in to talk to him a few times and she reckons he’s sorry, but I don’t believe a word of it. Not sure what we’re going to do with him, but if I had _my_ way, I’d stick him right back down in the catacombs for hurting you…”

“No, no,” I interrupted, nursing my sore ribs with the palm of my hand, “don’t be angry with him, I’m fine. I must’ve startled him, I… Should’ve expected it really, now that I think back on it, I’ve seen that kind of reaction before.”

“Doesn’t mean he had to throw you around like that, Attendant,” Tempura replied, folding his built arms tightly around his equally sculpted chest, “if Tiramisu wasn’t here you would’ve died, you know.”

“I know that and I’m not trying to _excuse_ what he did, but the fact that he was scared explains it, at least to me.” I replied firmly, glancing around at my window, realising that it was dark yet again. It was starting to feel like years since I’d seen a full day’s worth of sunlight, but I was alright with that, I hadn’t exactly been a sun lover back home.

“Look, let me take a shower, I’m a _mess._ I’ll come downstairs afterwards and talk to Tiramisu then, could you let her know?”

Tempura wore a strange expression on his face, one I’d never seen before. In the short time that I’d known him, I’d only ever seen him laugh or frown, every face he pulled almost comical in its intensity, but now I found that he wore an expression that was quite unreadable. 

“Yeah, alright,” he finally said, getting to his feet somewhat reluctantly, “just don’t want to see you get hurt anymore. That’s all.”

I watched him go, uncomfortably aware of the guilt once again rising in my chest, it felt almost familiar by now, almost, like an old friend visiting for a catch up. Perhaps I would learn to live with it eventually, but for now, it still hurt. 

-

I was never one to feel the cold, having hailed from somewhere that had once boasted a record low of minus thirty-nine degrees Celsius. But for whatever reason, I found myself plagued with a chill that couldn’t rid myself of, even after I’d washed and put on a fresh set of clothes. However, this did give the gargantuan scarf Pudding had bought for me a time to shine, and so as I headed down to the restaurant, I threw it about my shoulders like a shawl, sighing with relief as my body finally began to warm up.

Once downstairs, I barely had time to even think of greeting everyone before Tiramisu was upon me once again, her apple green eyes wide and rather misty with emotion.

“Oh, Miss Attendant, you’re awake! What a little marvel you are, look at you! Up on your feet after an ordeal like that… My magic is good for healing, but there’s always a little discomfort left over. How are you feeling?”

“I don’t feel like I’ve been thrown into a wall,” I replied, chancing a smile, desperate to reassure her, I didn’t much like the idea of her looking at me too closely, “if anything is a marvel, its your powers. Um, thanks for healing me, _again._ I’m sorry, I know I delayed your trip out to Nevras, you can blame me for it if you want, Olivia’s angry enough with me as it is.”

“Oh, nonsense! You didn’t ask to get hurt again,” Tiramisu cried, shaking her head as if I’d mortally offended her, “besides, my Master has been held up in Nevras again, apparently the Guild conference is dragging on and on. But I’m afraid that my time with you really does have to end here, I must use this extra time wisely.”

“S-Sure, sure…” I mumbled, certain that I’d been about to say something else, but before I had a chance to speak, Tiramisu moved away towards the front of the restaurant, giving me the chance to smile awkwardly at the people seated around the nearest table.

“Well then!” Came the Support Soul’s voice yet again, gesturing to me from the door, apparently dead set on me sending her off. “All I have to say to you now is; stay out of those catacombs, keep your nose clean, and… Keep yourself safe, Miss Attendant. These are tense times we’re living in. Be careful, for me.”

“I can’t promise anything,” came my rather sullen reply, thinking of how unpredictably the Fallen tended to act, “I promise that I’ll _try,_ but that’s really all I can do.”

“Yes… I suppose so,” Tiramisu said tragically, shaking her head, both hands resting gently on my shoulders, a final show of support, “nothing is ever as it seems nowadays. Well, good luck, Miss Attendant, I do hope we’ll see each other again under happier circumstances.”

We hugged, or rather, I hugged her while the Support Soul nearly crushed me in a surprisingly firm grip, really, and it was as if she’d never hugged anyone before! But soon enough, a sudden whisper by my ear explained to me exactly why she’d aimed to draw me so close.

“Talk to that Food Soul,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, even with her lips almost pressed directly to my ear, “he was hiding in those catacombs for a reason.”

With that, and a sense of déjà vu coursing through me, she left yet again, the restaurant door closing behind her with a click, followed by the thudding of the heavy bolts that I slid into place. I’d had enough of the Fallen for a lifetime.

-

The evening dragged by after that, even though the conversation flowed easily between myself, Morag and the rest, my mind was elsewhere, specifically in the stockroom with the elusive Food Soul. Tiramisu’s cryptic, whispered message hadn’t helped matters either; indeed, the ‘reason’ for which such a massive and powerful being had hidden himself away in the catacombs didn’t bear thinking about. Whatever had made someone as big as him _that_ afraid was something I would rather not encounter; the gruesome Fallen I’d killed had been bad enough.

Eventually, after much deliberation, Morag and Brownie rose from the table, sullen-faced as they announced that they should be going too.

“Are you sure you two can’t stay?” I asked glumly over Morag’s shoulder, my arms around her waist as we hugged.

“I’m sure, I’ve got a little shop of my own, believe it or not,” Morag replied, releasing me reluctantly, though she tried to mask it with a smile, “I’ll come and visit you soon! But I really need to start earning again for the moment, ‘specially since I didn’t get that reward money.”

“Did you really think you were going to get it?” Pudding asked sourly behind us, apparently still a little put out about our unplanned rescue mission.

“Well! It was worth a try, wasn’t it?” Morag asked indignantly, but she still stepped over to ruffle the Magic Soul’s hair, much to his dismay. “Can’t get anywhere in life with _that_ kind of attitude!”

Smiling slightly at the utter outrage on Pudding’s face, I stepped forward to hug Brownie goodbye too, noting as I did so, the rather strong smell of cocoa that seemed to emit from him. How I hadn’t noticed it during our journey to and from the catacombs was a complete mystery…

“Thank you once again for helping me, Miss Attendant,” he said warmly once we’d broken apart, “I really have no way of repaying you for your kindness, nor for your courage.”

“Brownie, really, you don’t have to pay me back, the fact that the Fallen didn’t get Morag is enough for me,” I replied, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t bring up the subject of the gun again, “just… Don’t let her go down there again, okay?”

“Oh, don’t you worry.” He said with a sniff, trying and failing to make his torn waistcoat look a little less wrecked. “I’ve already strongly advised Master Attendant against ever going back there, thankfully she seems to agree with me, although I never can quite tell what she’s thinking. Good luck to you, Miss Attendant, I, ah… Hope you have better luck with the Food Soul we found.”

“As do I,” I grumbled, my mouth twisting a little as my ribs seemed to twinge in response, “if I’m honest with you, Brownie, I’m really not sure what I’m going to do with him. Machines can be… Temperamental, and with one as big as him, I think I just need to take baby steps, right?”

“That would be wise.” Brownie replied, though his voice suddenly wavered and his brows furrowed, staring at me with something close to worry in his eyes. “Miss Attendant. May I say something?”

“If you want? It isn’t about the gun again, is it? Because I already said…” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t ask you about that again, you told me not to,” he interrupted, though his serious expression and the look in his icy eyes reminded me unpleasantly of that particular conversation, “I was just going to say to you. Based on observation alone; I don’t think he likes you referring to him as a machine.”

“What?”

“That Food Soul,” Brownie elaborated, a note of confidence creeping into his voice, “he doesn’t like you calling him a machine.”

“… Oh.” 

That was really all I could say, and as Tempura and Pudding both bid Morag farewell, Brownie turned to leave as well, but glanced back to me at the last moment, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Don’t give up on him, Miss Attendant. He may look different from the rest of we Food Souls, but underneath, I see no difference between us at all, and really; isn’t that all that matters?”

-

Much like the time in the catacombs, Brownie’s words made an impact, such an impact that I was still going over them in my head when I’d retired for the night. I lay awake in my bed, annoyed, but nevertheless curious.

I had expected to feel incredibly guilty, now that I knew why – or at least part of the reason why – the Food Soul had attacked me, but for whatever reason, the guilt never came. In its place, there sat an uncomfortable anxiety, heavy and squirming in my stomach and chest. It only grew worse as I lay there, watching the night wearing on and on, my ears pricked for the tiniest sound, the faintest whisper of movement. The feeling that had crept up inside me while in the stockroom was back too, and it seemed like every time I closed my eyes I could see the Food Soul’s face, rigid and set, watching me with that one, glowing eye.

I hoped to God that he wasn’t still angry with me.

A _clatter_ sounded downstairs.

I closed my eyes in silent agony, praying that it was just the wind, or maybe an animal outside, or maybe Tempura was prone to sleepwalking.

Another sharp _clatter,_ and my breathing caught in my throat, terror beginning to rise slowly but surely in my throat, despite my attempts to squash it down. It was embarrassing just how scared I was, I wouldn’t have called myself a woman who scared easily, but there was just _something_ about the way that Food Soul moved; the way he’d looked at me before attacking. My interest in machinery had been lifelong, but even that wasn’t enough to quash the…

Oh no, wait… Brownie had told me that he _didn’t like_ being referred to as a machine.

Had he attacked me because of that? Oh, God above…

Once again there came a rattle from downstairs, more insistent this time, louder too… Despite the anxiety tying itself into knots in my stomach, I forced myself to sit up, my eyes wide and my breathing embarrassingly loud, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Pudding could hear me from next door.

God, that wouldn’t actually be too bad, at least I’d have some company if I ended up having to go…

_Creeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaak._

My heart sank, that was definitely the stockroom door, that was _definitely_ the sound of someone almost colliding into it, that was _definitely_ the thudding of something enormous stumbling his way into the main restaurant.

Praying that he hadn’t broken anything – or himself – I swung my legs out of bed, trying desperately to not lose my head. I knew for a fact that Pudding and Tempura would’ve both protested against me ever going near that Food Soul again, but at the end of the day, this was _my_ restaurant. 

I’m the boss, damnit, _I’m_ the boss, and this is _my_ God forsaken restaurant.

Grim-faced, I snatched up my brown scarf and wrapped it tightly around my shoulders, so I could better pretend that I was shivering from cold and not fear, the heating wasn’t the best here after all. Step by step, I crept out of my room, wincing every time I stepped on a loose floorboard or the wooden ceiling beams above me groaned as they settled. Squinting through the near-complete darkness, I could _just_ make out the stairs before me, illuminated faintly by the orange light of the streetlamps flooding the dining room.

I made my way down the stairs, cautiously, carefully, as if my very life depended on how quiet I was. I couldn’t see him after all, and the very last thing I wanted was a repeat of the incident in the stockroom. For such a massive Food Soul, he sure could be inconspicuous when he wanted to be.  
As I reached the bottom stair, I drew my scarf-come-shawl a little tighter around myself, goose bumps erupting up my arms. I could see him, in stark contrast to the way he’d hidden himself in amongst the crates in the stockroom, now he was standing right in the middle of the dining room with his back to me. Was he looking out for the Fallen through the front windows? They were known to slink about outside the restaurant, as my first night here had revealed.

I tiptoed a little closer, holding my breath, praying to whatever God was listening that he was in a good mood. Maybe I could offer him some tea; could he even _drink_ tea? Maybe…

With terrifying speed, he turned his head with a jolt, that piercing blue iris fixed on me once again, unmoving, unblinking. I hung back a little, debating just turning and running back up the stairs to my bed, but I knew better, he was _fast_ even in this state, catching up to me would be child’s play. Slowly, I held up both of my hands, open palms; a symbol of peace, or so I hoped.

“Hello,” I greeted him, as kindly as I could with my wavering voice, “c-can’t you sleep either? I know I can’t. I was… I was thinking of making a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

He didn’t reply, preferring instead to keep on staring; I really wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but I reasoned that at least he hadn’t made a move to attack again. For a few, long minutes, we stood in silence, letting the soft noises of the restaurant fill our ears, the creaking of the beams, the occasional drip of a sink in the kitchen, and the odd grunting snore emanating from Tempura’s room.

Then, slowly but surely, the Food Soul jerked his head; a sharp and rigid movement, side to side, his eye still fixed on my face in a steely gaze, but to me it was clear, that was a definite ‘no’.

“Alright! No pressure, I’m going to have one, though so, um.” I faltered, choosing my words carefully. _Not a machine, **not** a machine, looks like a machine, but **isn’t** one._ “Just make yourself comfortable, there are plenty of chairs around… I’ll be right back.”

With that, I scarpered into the kitchen, incredibly conscious of the way that eye remained on me until I’d left his line of sight. As I made the tea however, I realised that there was one, small advantage to how much he scared me; in comparison to our exchange, lighting the gas beneath the kettle felt like a walk in the park. I decided to take it as a good sign that he hadn’t lashed out at me again, though his posture and the way he _stared_ suggested to me that he still wasn’t comfortable around me. 

The sound of movement suddenly came from the dining room, and with a tiny shiver, I turned around just in time to see him sinking into a chair with some difficulty, whether it was down to his size or the state of his body, I wasn’t sure, but at least he wasn’t staring anymore.

Baby steps, Noyabrina, _baby steps._

Though I would’ve rather stuck my foot into the mouth of a Fallen Angel, I made my way back into the dining room, holding my steaming cup gingerly in my hands. As I passed him, I doggedly avoided his gaze, choosing instead to focus on the shadows cast by the streetlamps outside. I sat down at my own table a little way away from him, still not looking at him, forcing myself to think of little things that needed to be done around the restaurant; the floor definitely needed a sweep, the front windows could do with some curtains, there was a burn on my table…

“I am… Sorry.”

Although his voice was soft I very nearly jumped out of my skin. Trying my hardest _not_ to look scared, I finally returned his gaze, noting with some relief, that his expression wasn’t as rigid as it had been earlier, nor was his posture. He had leant over his table a little, his shoulders hunched and his head down, though his eye still remained angled up at me, but it was moving now, over my face, the cup in my hands. However, there was still something oddly hostile about the way he sat, and the way he looked at me, as if he was expecting me to berate him. 

Brownie had been right about the machine thing, I suddenly realised, biting my bottom lip; though it wasn’t abundantly clear, there was _resentment_ in his face.

“O-Oh,” I mumbled, fumbling to form words, “it’s fine. Really it is. I’m not dead, am I? Thank you, though, for apologising, it means a lot to me.”

Silence fell yet again, in which I decided to turn away again, taking a few, tentative sips from my cup before a question soon surfaced in my mind.

“Um, I realise I haven’t introduced myself,” I said as cheerily as I could, though that eye still caused my stomach to writhe, “my name’s Nonna, I’m the Cooking Attendant here. What’s your name?”

He didn’t reply, not immediately, but somehow I knew that if I just gave him a little time, he’d respond. I wasn’t exactly complaining, silence was far better than violence.

“I am B-52,” he finally muttered, never moving even an inch from his hunched position over the table, “I’m only a common Cocktail and nothing more.”

“B-52?” I repeated, frowning lightly, for some reason the name rang a bell, but where I’d heard it before was certainly not something I’d be able to recall when there were so many other things running through my head. “Oh! So you’re a cocktail? Right, okay, that makes sense.”

It didn’t, of course it didn’t, nothing about him said ‘cocktail’ to me, but I wasn’t about to tell him that, the fact that he’d initiated any conversation at all was progress, and after all, what was I here to do if not to make progress?

“My scanners seem to be malfunctioning.” He said rather bluntly, reaching a robotic hand up to his working eye, tapping it experimentally with a long finger. “You are human, obviously. But the damage I obtained whilst in the catacombs must have been extensive, for my scanners cannot seem to tell me for definite whether you are a human, or a turned human. I apologise.”

“Oh, that’s… Fine?” I mumbled out a response, taking a long sip from my teacup, only to pause midway, what had he said again? “Um, wait. What did you mean by _’turned’_ human?” 

Yet again, B-52 seemed to survey me for a moment, which, if what he’d said about his scanners was true, was apparently for good reason.

“’Turned’ human refers to a human who has undergone, or has begun to undergo, a transformation into a Fallen Angel.” He stated, as if he were reading it from a script. “But please do not be alarmed. You are now showing no signs or symptoms of turning. Once again, I apologise, I must have mistaken you for a turned human the previous night.”

I gaped at him, my teacup held halfway to my open mouth, but though my eyes were fixed on him, I didn’t even register him; for my mind was suddenly full of questions, thoughts, panic. All of it crashing down onto me at once rendered me completely speechless; since when had humans been able to turn into Fallen Angels? More importantly, what on earth had he seen in me that had made him think I was turned, or beginning to turn? Unless… Oh, _God._

“Do you require assistance?” Came B-52’s voice again, bringing me back down to earth with a thud, he was looking at me quizzically, his head tilted to one side once again. “Your heart is currently beating at a rate faster than is normal for a human woman your age. Can I help?”

“I’m… Fine.” I grunted, ducking away to take another large gulp of tea, Christ, he could even see my heart rate? “Stop _scanning_ me, I don’t need help, I’m just tired, alright?”

“I apologise.”

“It’s alright, just. I don’t know, relax a little; alright?” I sighed, resting my head in the palm of my free hand. “You’ve been through a lot, what with the catacombs and everything, that Fallen could’ve killed you, it’s lucky Tiramisu got to you when she did. We were all worried, especially after all you did for me and Brownie, I meant to thank you for that, by the way, that thing would’ve killed us if it weren’t for you.”

B-52 frowned at that, which both relieved and terrified me; while it was good to know that he could pull more than a few expressions, it wasn’t good to see how scary a frown made him look.

“I was drawn into battling the Fallen due to my programming.” He said shortly. “I did not notice you and your Food Soul until I had begun the fight.”

“Yes, but,” I began, reminded suddenly of something Pudding had said to me, “your actions still lead to saving lives, right? I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you hadn’t fought the Fallen, so, thank you.”

I smiled at him hopefully, wondering if my words had meant something to him, or maybe enough to coax a smile out of him in return, but merely he continued to gaze at me, his frown gradually melting into confusion.

Perhaps it was best to change the subject, or go back to bed. The latter sounded most tempting.

“I’m ah… Going to wash this cup and go back upstairs,” I said, rising from my chair, clutching the china teacup a little _too_ tightly in my hands, “you can stay here as long as you like, though! Just be careful, I’ve tripped over these chairs more times than I care to count.”

“Affirmative. I will watch my step.”

Well, that was certainly better than nothing, I thought as I headed back into the kitchen. But really, what a strange Soul, he really was nothing like Brownie or Tempura or even Pudding with his straight-laced manner of talking and acting, it was as if every single action and word was part of some kind of database, which rendered him quite unable to think or say anything outside of that database. The thought alone made me shudder, which almost lead to me dropping my teacup in the sink. 

But how _awful_ that must be, though of course he probably didn’t realise it, but to be limited in such a way, to be shut out from all the things that made life bearable. Laughter, love, a feeling of content that often rose up in one’s chest at the sight of home, what _had_ B-52 been doing down in those catacombs anyway? ‘Drawn into battling the Fallen’, he’d said, ‘due to his programming’, and he hadn’t even noticed Brownie or I at all, far too focused on what he’d no doubt been built to do.

It took me a while to realise that there were tears mingling with the water I was using to wash the cup, but instead of stemming the flow, I let them fall, suddenly feeling so, overwhelmingly thankful that I _could_ cry. How dreadful, what an utterly _wretched_ existence he was leading…

**Tap! Tap!**

With a yelp, I staggered back from the sink, swearing loudly as the teacup I was holding fell to the floor with a tinkle of breaking china. Someone was at the door. Really? At this time of night?

“Who on earth…”

But I found myself suddenly distracted by another loud noise, a scraping of chair legs, a thud of someone colliding with a table, and I swept over to the kitchen door just in time to see B-52 scrambling back towards the stockroom, his face rigid.

“B-52? What’s wrong?” I asked, stunned, but he didn’t answer, preferring instead to focus all of his energy on barrelling back into the stockroom, closing the door behind him with a _bang._

Riddled with confusion, I glanced across the dining room to the door, there was definitely someone out there, though whether it was human, Fallen or Food Soul was impossible to tell through the gloom. I stood, stunned for a moment or so, wondering who the Hell was parading the streets at this hour, but it appeared that I didn’t have much time, as another round of sharp knocks came, accompanied by a voice this time.

“Attendant Noyabrina! I would very much like a word with you.”

Bewildered, I moved forward, though at least the voice had ruled out the possibility of it being a Fallen, I had never once heard them speak, especially not in an accent like that.  
With a heavy ‘clunk’, the metal bolts were slid back from the door, though I endeavoured only to open it a crack so that I could peer suspiciously outside at my very late visitor.

Illuminated by the ugly orange light above him, I could now see the face of the speaker. He was a tall, broad-shouldered Food Soul, wrapped in a rich, fur lined cape against the cold night air and even from the tiny gap I’d allowed myself to look through, I could see his fiery red hair, slightly tousled from the wind. 

Besides his rather intimidating size, and the obviously pricy clothing he had chosen to dress himself in, he didn’t seem to mean any harm, in fact he was smiling; a somewhat forced, practiced smile, but it was still a smile.

“Ah, there you are, excellent.” He said happily, shifting a little as a chilly wind threatened to blow up and under his cape, I could hear something that sounded suspiciously like gold clinking as he moved. “My deepest apologies for disturbing you at this dreadful hour, but I am afraid that I could not delay meeting you. I have received information that you have…”

“Who _are_ you?” I interrupted him, suddenly all too aware of the ruckus coming from the stockroom. “Can’t you come back in the morning? I was just about to go back to bed.”

The Food Soul’s expression faltered a tad and his eyes widened in what I could only assume to be confusion, however in the blink of an eye, he had rearranged his face back into that practiced smile and his hand slipped into the folds of his cape as he spoke.

“I’m afraid I cannot, this needs to be taken care of now, but with your co operation, why, you’ll be fast asleep in no time. Now then.”

With a flourish, he drew his hand back out of his cape, a fat sack of gold now held tightly in his fist. I didn’t like this Food Soul’s demeanour, nor his way of speaking, but I couldn’t stop my face from growing slack with temptation at the sight of the sack, an expression that he quickly noticed, smiling broadly.

“Now that I have your attention, I am here to reward you, Attendant Noyabrina, for putting an end to that _dreadful_ business at the Nevras border. I cannot tell you just how grateful the residents are there, so! It is only right that you should be paid handsomely for your and your Food Souls’ efforts.”

“I ah…” I mumbled, opening the door just a little wider, though I quickly grew to dislike the way he seemed to lean in, glancing above my head, his violet eyes roaming across the dining room. “Thank you! For the gold, I’m, ah… Um, can I help you with something?”

“Indeed you can.” He replied jovially, though he didn’t look down at me again, preferring instead to try and push past me into the restaurant. “Aside from the gold, I have one very small favour to ask of you, now if you would just let me…”

“Oy!” I yelped suddenly, lurching forward, using the door to push him back outside. “What are you trying to do, rob me? Please, just _tell_ me what I can do for you, rather than shoving your way in.”

The Food Soul looked positively scandalised, as if no one had ever shown him any resistance before. Oh… I knew that look – I suddenly realised – it was a look I’d seen many times before, the indignant, pompous outrage of a _bourgeoisie._

“B-52 Cocktail,” he snapped, and I was somewhat satisfied to hear that all of the honey had been washed clean out of his voice, “where is he? I have received information that you are sheltering him here. I would like for you to return him to me, if you please.”

“Right.” I huffed, making the gap in the door smaller still, all sympathy for the man vanishing at a rate of knots. “So you’re after him, huh? What are you to him?”

“I… Now see here.”

_”What are you to him?”_

“I am his employer, he’s been in my service for _years._ Now would you _please_ step aside, Attendant Noyabrina. I don’t have time to play games with you.” He scolded, trying to reach a hand through the gap, before drawing it back sharply as I threatened to close the door on his fingers. “Now _really!_ You cannot keep him from me! You aren’t even contracted to him, be reasonable, Miss Attendant, I cannot give you your reward without this exchange.”

 _”Keep_ your damned gold, I’m not ‘returning’ him to you.” I grunted through the gap in the door. “He nearly broke his neck trying to get away when he heard you knocking, I don’t know what kind of work you have him doing, but he clearly doesn’t like you.”

There was a moment’s pause, a tense and uncomfortable pause before a shrill laugh rang out, a laugh that chilled me to the bone. With a shudder, I moved to slam the door shut, but at that moment, I felt an almighty _shove,_ and I was sent sprawling across the restaurant floor, swearing loudly. Above me, I saw the redheaded Food Soul step over the threshold, shaking his head in apparent dismay.

“Really, Attendant Noyabrina, I had hoped that you’d be a little more co operative than this,” he sighed, “honestly. How on earth can you tell what B-52 likes and does not like? He’s a machine, an artificial Food Soul who knows no thought or feeling beyond instructions to engage in combat, and _I_ am the one who relays those instructions. I have spent far too much time on him for someone like you to steal him from me. Now, get out of my way, I’ll find him by my…”

He trailed off, and for good reason. Somewhere behind me, a behemoth was descending the stairs, the restaurant lights suddenly clicked on, and through the near-blinding glare, I saw Tempura standing at the entrance to the dining room, his massive arms folded so tightly that the muscles _bulged_.

“This guy _bothering_ you, Attendant?” He asked, stony-faced.

Above me, I heard the redheaded Food Soul choke a little, and looking up, I saw him glance quickly between myself and Tempura before turning on his heel and stomping away in a flurry of fur.

”Don’t think I won’t bring legal action into this if necessary,” he hissed as he went, turning in the doorway, his face livid, “I strongly advise that you re-evaluate your position, Attendant Noyabrina. For your sake as well as your restaurant’s.”

With that, he vanished, and somewhere further down the street, I heard the sound of several horses whinnying, a door slamming, and the gentle creaking of a wooden cart being pulled away across the cobbles.

“Gods,” Tempura snorted from behind me, he sounded amused, “what’s with him? ‘Legal action’, huh? He sounds like some cliché villain, uh, are you alright, Attendant?”

I didn’t answer, pretending not to have heard him over the clunking of the metal bolts as I slid them back into place, I just couldn’t find the words, my head and my stomach were both far too full of rage, disgust, so overpowering that I thought I might be sick.

“Master Attendant?”

“… Umn… Go back to bed, Tempura.” I replied dully, turning to look over at him, bullying my face into smiling. “Thanks for having my back. I didn’t think he was just going to force his way in like that.”

“Hah, yeah. Nevras officials like him are always touchy,” Tempura scoffed, waving a massive hand through the air, “don’t worry about what he said, it’s all empty threats. You need anything else?’

“N-No, no, really, I’m okay. You get some rest, it’s business as usual tomorrow.”

“Right you are, Attendant!”

I watched him go, a warm feeling of gratitude soothing the burning in my stomach, I really was extremely lucky to have summoned a Food Soul like Tempura. 

However, as I glanced towards the shut door of the stockroom, I felt all warmth immediately disappear from my body. It was no wonder B-52 had run scared, if the only other alternative was ending up back in that Food Souls employment. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was crossing the room, weaving between chairs and tables until I had pushed open the stockroom door, fumbling about on the wall for a light switch this time. With a ‘click’, the room was illuminated, though dimly.

“B-52?”

He was behind the crates again, and even in the sickly light, I could see him shaking. 

“H-Hey, hey,” I mumbled, moving cautiously towards him, trying my utmost not to startle him, “hey, um. B-52? B? He’s gone, alright? That Food Soul’s gone, it’s okay.” 

He glanced up at me sharply, eyebrows drawn together, his jaw clenched with fear; in the light cast by the lamp above, I realised that he didn’t look quite so scary anymore. I stood by him for a moment, watching him shake until I could take no more.

“Here, here,” I said softly, reaching up around my shoulders to pull off my scarf, “have this scarf. Um, Pudding got it for me, but it’s _massive_ on me, it looks just about the right size for you though, maybe it’ll help you feel better.”

At first, I was afraid that he wouldn’t let me drape it over him, but as it turned out, he kept perfectly still as I laid the fabric across his back before looping it loosely around his neck. He seemed almost confused by the warmth, and as I stood beside him, he lifted up his hand, poking at the fabric gently with metal fingers. Then, without warning, that same hand suddenly reached out to me, gripping tightly at my waist, causing me to cry out in alarm until I realised that he wasn’t attacking again, quite the opposite in fact.

Still shaking, B-52 held me to him tightly, his working eye glancing up at me briefly to catch a glimpse of my expression, before he turned his face away, resting his forehead against the soft flesh of my stomach. Suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to burst into tears, I leant down a little to put my arms around his quivering shoulders, carding my fingers gently through his synthetic hair.

“It’s alright… He’s gone. You’re fine.

“You’re _fine…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO BOY. SOMEBODY PISS OFF-A MY SPAGHET.
> 
> Oh MAN. I'm sorry this chapter is so damn long, I kind of got carried away, and there wasn't really a part where I thought it would be good to start a new chapter, so fuck it. I stuck the whole lot in one!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

“While it is true that I do not much like being woken up in the middle of the night, I would’ve preferred it if you had done just that, if what happened last night was as bad as you described.” Pudding sighed, pouring me a cup of tea, observing my messy hair and droopy, tired eyes with an oddly tender kind of disapproval.

“Really, Master Attendant, you look a state. I _insist_ that after you have had your tea, you go straight back to bed, you cannot work if you have had no sleep.”

“I’m fine, just give me a minute.” I grumbled, pulling the cup towards me and hastily dumping half of the contents of the sugar bowl into it. “I got _some_ sleep, but I couldn’t leave B-52 after that Food Soul ran off, he was too scared to be alone.”

“That’s another thing!” Pudding exclaimed, rounding on Tempura this time, who was completely focused on trying to suck all of the remaining flavour out of his used teabag. “Why in the name of all things Holy on Tierra did _you_ not tell me that a Nevras official was here? We could’ve negotiated with him! I daresay that our restaurant would thrive if we got support from someone like him!”

“He was pushing the Master around,” Tempura replied gruffly, his voice muffled ever so slightly around the obstruction in his mouth, “you don’t want someone like that in here, Pudding. I don’t care about him wanting to take the big guy, but treating our contractor like that…”

 _”I_ care that he wanted B-52, Tempura, please use his name,” I scolded lightly, staring into the last dregs of tea at the bottom of my cup, not really seeing them, “I know you’re still angry about him hurting me, but he apologised to me, alright? I told you; he said his scanners aren’t working properly, and that he mistook me for a human turning into a Fallen. Honestly, I probably would’ve done the same, for the sake of the human. The Fallen are gruesome enough as it is, but… To know that some of them might’ve been human once is pretty… Hard to swallow.”

Tempura still didn’t look convinced, but apparently he was satisfied enough with the explanation that he refrained from commenting any further on B-52’s attack; Pudding however, wore a very different expression.

“His mistook you for a turned human?” He repeated, pushing up his round spectacles with a long finger. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what he said,” I replied, shrugging a shoulder, “I don’t see why he’d lie, and it makes sense, the less Fallen there are, the better. But as far as I know, I’m not about to turn into _anything.”_

“It’s just that humans who are turning, or who are about to turn, normally display certain symptoms.” Pudding went on, resting his chin snugly atop his linked fingers. “I’m sorry to say that I have seen it in action… Their bodies, and what their bodies are capable of physically change, it’s a slow process, so slow that in most cases, even the humans themselves do not notice until it is too late.”

“Symptoms…” I repeated slowly, fighting to keep my face straight despite the apprehension rising slowly in my chest. “But, yeah, that’s what he said… Anyway, I should…”

“Yeah; and they get all these weird _boosts_ too,” Tempura said gruffly, finally removing the teabag from his mouth, “so some humans actually mistake it for a good thing at first! They can heal all their cuts and scrapes quicker, they have way more energy, some of them even…”

But he never had time to finish, as a sharp and loud series of knocks suddenly sounded from the front door.

“We’re _closed!”_ I called impatiently, rubbing my face in some last ditch attempt to wake myself up, noticing with some disgust, just how clammy my palms had become.

“No we’re not, Master Attendant.” Pudding said from beside me, his voice wavering slightly. “It’s Madam Olivia.”

_Shit._

“Noyabrina! Open up this door immediately.”

There was no hope in arguing with that voice.

Groaning, and doing my best to mentally prepare myself in the time it took me to cross the dining room, I slid back the front door’s metal bolts with a ‘thud’, allowing a grim-faced Olivia to step across the threshold.

She looked – if possible – even worse than me. Her hair no longer carried that freshly washed, perfectly kept sheen, her uniform was rumpled and slightly grimy, and though she held herself as primly as usual, I could tell that she was utterly exhausted. To my great surprise, she didn’t immediately start yelling, on the contrary in fact, after a brief mutter of thanks, she stumbled into the dining room and collapsed into the nearest chair, a deep sigh leaving her as she settled.

“I have been travelling all night, excuse me,” she said crisply, sweeping a few greasy strands of hair out of her face, “could I trouble your Food Souls to prepare us a pot of tea? I have a very important matter that I wish to discuss with you.”

-

“That Food Soul’s name was _Spaghetti?_ Seriously?” I snorted bitterly, almost inhaling half of my tea up my nose in the process. “That’s going to make it even harder for me to take him seriously.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Noyabrina, his name is not what should be concerning you.” Olivia snapped, and I was displeased to find that the hot tea had brought back a little of her old, sharp self. “I must say, you should be thanking him on bended knee that he has chosen not to pursue legal action against you, he is…”

“Legal action? Christ! For _what?”_ I interrupted, frowning over the rim of my teacup. “Not giving him what he wants?”

“Yes!” Olivia replied hotly, setting her own teacup down with a resounding clatter. “Noyabrina, please. You have already gotten away with far, far more than should’ve been allowed, but I really do have to put my foot down here. B-52 Cocktail is in Spaghetti’s employment, he has been for the best part of a decade and is an incredibly important asset to Spaghetti and those who work on his estate. Now, you are not contracted to B-52 Cocktail, which I’m afraid gives you no say in what happens to him.”

“What kind of _bullshit…”_

“You watch your tongue!” Olivia barked, her eyes flashing. “I am too tired to argue with you, Noyabrina, I’m just here to tell you what is expected of you. Please, be sensible for once, starting a standoff with a Food Soul like Spaghetti is an incredibly unwise thing to do. He isn’t like your Food Souls, or indeed most Food Souls, he has the power, the money, the contacts and the influence to completely destroy your business if you do not work with him. In this sort of circumstance, I am afraid that the law here is on his side, again; B-52 Cocktail isn’t contracted to you, and he has been in Spaghetti’s employment for years, the odds are all stacked against you here.”

I opened my mouth angrily, a torrent of furious retorts ready to billow up and out from my throat like a cloud of noxious gas, but Olivia cut me off before even the first word could leave my lips.

 _”Think_ for one, measly second, Noyabrina. No one, I repeat; _no one_ in a Court of Law anywhere in Tierra will side with a novice Cooking Attendant over a Nevras Official like Spaghetti, and even if they did, the costs of taking this wretched affair to a Court would destroy your business before Spaghetti could even get his hands on you.”

Contrary to just how much I’d had to say to Olivia before, I didn’t reply, I was far too busy trying to figure out my own mind. It was just too familiar to me, and not in a good way; to find yourself faced with someone who had everything you didn’t. Wealth, for all of its advantages, was truly a sickness that could utterly ruin the mind if left untreated. All of this was so, _so_ unfair, to the point where I wanted nothing more than to scream. I was vaguely aware of Olivia speaking again, but I couldn’t focus, instead, I felt my face twisting itself into a grimace, and the gentle pressure of my fingernails drumming against the wood table. Keep it down, I told myself, _force_ it down, don’t let that overtake you, getting angry will not win over anyone here.

“So I really have no choice, huh?” I heard myself say, though I had no recollection of deciding to say it, especially not in such a guttural, bitter tone. “I have to let _Spaghetti_ walk all over me, or he’ll ruin what I’ve made here?”

“That – I am afraid – is the long and short of it.” Olivia replied, and I was surprised to hear a bite of pity in her voice. “Of course, it isn’t guaranteed, but given his history, it’s extremely likely. Noyabrina, listen to me; what you and your Food Souls have done for B-52 Cocktail is… Selfless, I would even call it honourable; but you cannot house him here, once again; he is not yours to keep. Please understand.”

“God, just stop,” I muttered, letting my face fall into my hands, a heavy sigh escaping from between the gaps in my fingers, “stop… Referring to him as some kind of object. It’s bad enough that I’m basically being blackmailed here, without you and that damned Food Soul treating him like an asset, a… _Weapon._ That’s all he is to Spaghetti, isn’t he?”

Olivia didn’t answer, and all too soon, silence fell between us, a long and damning stretch devoid of even the faintest whisper of breath, I was almost thankful for it, anything was better than hearing Olivia talk anymore. My question had mostly been in rhetoric, after all. Eventually, I heard the scraping of the chair opposite me, and felt the brush of a hand on my shoulder, Olivia’s voice sounded out again, low and still with that odd pitying tone.

“You should open up your restaurant, and do your best to take your mind off of all this. Spaghetti is due back in Gloriville tomorrow, please do not try to fight him, Noyabrina, you will only make things worse for yourself. I assure you that it is best to keep what you have afloat, these are… Odd times. _Strained_ times, so tread wisely, _please.”_

Silence descended upon us once again, but this time it was broken ever so slightly by the soft clicking of boot heels, the scrape of a the metal bolts being pulled open, and the eventual yet resounding snap of the restaurant door shutting tightly.  
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there when Pudding eventually made his way through the dining room towards me; in fact, I may have even fallen asleep for a moment or two. In my half-awake state, I dimly heard him say something about opening up the restaurant, and insist yet again that I go back upstairs to bed.

Really by then, I was far, far too tired to even attempt to argue with him, and I did as I was told.

-

Despite never really paying any mind to the stockroom at first, I was now spending an awful lot of time in there, and as a result; I was beginning to find odd bits and bobs that could be put to use in the restaurant. 

Like the old radio I brought down from one of the higher shelves, for example. As old and dust-covered as it was, I figured that there was no harm in trying to breathe some life back into it, I was getting a little tired of the general buzz of the customers being the _only_ noise to fill my restaurant. 

That was the excuse I chose to use; that I was fixing the radio. In actual fact, I’d been looking for an opportunity to talk with B-52 ever since Olivia’s visit the previous day, though what I was going to say to him was still very much a work in progress. She had said that Spaghetti would be back in Gloriville today, but I was determined to get a word in before he came sweeping into my restaurant yet again. No matter how many times I’d tried to reason with myself over it, the thought of letting Spaghetti take B-52 away would not sit right with me, and the very least that I could do was to warn him of what was coming.

Fortunately, the large, mechanical Food Soul had no objection to me sitting with him, and had replied with a single, jerky nod when I’d asked if he would like company. I had to admit that he had perked up a little since the catacombs and Spaghetti’s impromptu arrival, but despite his improved mood, he’d stayed firmly wedged in his corner, as if stuck there with glue. It was horrible to see, and it was even worse to know that I had to be the bringer of such damning news. The memories of the look on his face and the way he’d trembled in my arms despite my attempts to comfort him wouldn’t leave my head, and the images continued to circle around and around, tormenting me until I could take no more.

“Hey, umn… B-52?” I began, as casually and as conversationally as I could, my eyes fixed firmly upon the radio’s newly exposed inner workings. “I need to talk to you about something.”

There was a pause, in which the only sounds around us were the occasional, sharp exhalation of breath as I tried to blow dust out of the radio’s empty battery slots, and the odd smattering of customers talking out in the dining room. It was still early, much too early for a real rush to start, so I had reasoned that Pudding and Tempura would be able to handle the clientele for a half hour or so.

“I am listening, Miss Attendant.” Came the short, crisp reply.

“It’s _Nonna.”_ I sighed, glancing up and around the room, pretending to look for a pair of batteries. What wouldn’t I give for a Food Soul to actually call me by my name?

 _Aside_ from Spaghetti, obviously.

“Miss _Nonna.”_

“Close enough.” I muttered, finally feeling brave enough to meet his gaze. “Um… Listen, you’re going to _hate_ what I have to say, but. My… Boss? I guess you could call her my boss, has said to me that you… Can’t stay here.”

I winced, for as simple as it was, that sentence had caused me almost physical pain to say. I didn’t dare check to see if B-52 was staring at me, I was sure that I wouldn’t be able to meet his gaze even if he was, it had been hard enough to watch him break down the night before last. 

“I see. This must mean that Master Spaghetti has requested my return. Is that correct?”

A shiver ran down my spine, I hated the way he spoke so matter-of-factly, when he’d almost torn the dining room apart trying to _get away_ from Spaghetti not two days ago, it was almost as if he had resigned himself to his fate. God, what was I supposed to say to him?

“I’m sorry,” I uttered sharply, the radio’s plastic casing creaking slightly as I gripped onto it, my knuckles turning white with the pressure, “I don’t have a choice, it’s either that or I… Could lose the restaurant. I know it’s only a shabby little place, and I know I’m not making millions off of it, but it’s all I have here, please believe me when I say that I have no other place to go.”

I bowed my head, hit immediately with the cold, merciless realisation that what I’d said must’ve sounded so, so selfish to everyone outside of my own head. Somewhat desperately, I glanced up at him, my lips pressed firmly together, scrambling about in my brain, trying to cobble together some strand of rational thought, some words of comfort.

“Before you say anything, I know that this is wrong, okay?” I began, my voice wavering. “I know that you don’t want to go with him, and if I had _any_ other option, I’d fight my corner, but my hands are tied. All I can say to you is that I’m so, _so_ sorry, B. Really I am.”

I shrank back into my chair a little, sure that he was about to snap, or maybe even make a move to attack me again, but he sat completely still, head tilted, his one working eye trained on me as usual. It was almost uncanny how still he was able to be when he wanted to. After a while however, his head lowered, his eye left my face and his shoulders sagged as the unmistakeable noise of steam escaping sounded throughout the room. I watched – in spite of myself – with something close to awe as a cloud of white vapour rose up from beneath his shirt, swirling around his shoulders for a split second before disappearing into the air.

“Apologies are not needed.” He said finally, shaking his head slowly from side to side. “Master Spaghetti has the means to hire a mechanic to repair me, so I can continue to work. Therefore, going back to him is logically the best solution, if I cannot work, I am of no use to anyone.”

I gaped at him, trying my best to force down the burning sensation that had begun to rise up in my throat; I couldn’t afford to fall to pieces now, for heaven’s sake!

“How can you say that?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice level, swallowing down the threat of tears. “Look, B-52, listen to me. Spaghetti only sees you as a weapon, doesn’t he? A tool! He only wants you because of your fighting skills! Do you really want to go back to him just so he can fix you and start using you again?”

B-52 frowned, and yet again I could hear that faint whirring, an odd, uneasy noise, it made the apprehension already nestled in my chest intensify tenfold. 

“If I were you,” I muttered, my eyes averted to my knees, where all I could do was watch as my vision became steadily blurred with tears, “I’d want to _stay_ broken.”

That whirring droned on and on, growing louder and louder the longer we sat. Neither of us seemed to want to carry on the conversation, or initiate a new one. Then, finally, B-52’s soft voice broke the heavy silence in a single, hushed question.

“Why?”

The question threw me a little off guard, and with a frown of my own now set on my face, I looked back up at him, a million and one questions of my own surfacing in my brain.

“Well. If… If I were in your situation, I’d want to get rid of _everything_ that made me appealing to someone like Spaghetti.” I said, as if it were obvious. “I’ve seen the way you fight, B-52, you’re incredibly skilled! The way you took on that Fallen Angel was phenomenal, but… That’s why Spaghetti wants you back. Isn’t it better to be free and inefficient, rather than skilled and trapped doing the bidding of someone you’d rather not have anything to do with?”

“Master Spaghetti and I have never seen… Eye to eye.” B-52 replied, and though he visibly tried to fight it, the shudder that rocked his frame was almost laughably obvious. “You are assuming rather a lot, Miss Nonna, but you are correct in guessing that he does see me as a useful asset, and I cannot say I enjoy being in his service. But I am nevertheless proud of my skills, and working for him has helped to hone those skills. I would not want to remain in this state, it is frustrating to me. I… _Like_ being able to fight the way I do.”

I stared at him, almost transfixed; I knew that my mouth was hanging open, but I couldn’t find the will to close it. What he was saying was utterly preposterous, ludicrous! Here, sat before me, was a man that had been used and – for lack of a better word – exploited for his abilities, his situation was exactly as I’d feared, and yet…

“But,” I muttered, trying furiously to think of a retort, “that’s. That isn’t how it…”

“Forgive me, Miss Nonna, but even on the day when I am no longer in Master Spaghetti’s service, I would still, in spite of everything, wish to remain as I was before you met me. Fully functional, and fully capable of combat.”

His frown soon levelled out, melting once again into a look of almost tender confusion, and with a series of clicking and whirring, he held out his functional hand before his eyes, examining the intricate metalwork of his fingers and his palm carefully.

“What concerns me the most is… _How_ I use my skills.” He went on, flexing his fingers, the metal glinting sinisterly in the daylight streaming in through the window above. “For example, regarding our conversation the night before last. Miss Nonna, I would have liked… I would have _loved_ to have fought that Fallen for no other reason than to help you.

“… Why are you crying?”

“M’ _not.”_ I mumbled, my hands balled into fists against my thighs, though my face was downcast and my eyes were burning with tears.

“Can I help?”

“It’s fine, really it is.” I insisted, raising my face to him once again, and in spite of the tears choking my voice, I could feel a smile slowly curling at the edges of my lips, and my body slowly being filled up with some strange, wild happiness. “Honestly, it’s… More than fine. B-52, you…”

But I never got to finish my sentence, as the stockroom door suddenly burst open, causing me to almost fall off of my chair in shock. Annoyed, I clambered back onto my feet, ready to give whoever had barged in a piece of my mind, but I was never given the chance to.

“Master Attendant! The Nevras official is back,” Pudding cried, almost shrilly, grabbing me by the sleeve and yanking me out of the room, “I hate to interrupt you, but this has to be sorted out _now!_ We have customers! We cannot afford to cause a scene! Hurry, hurry!”

Stomach churning and head reeling, I allowed Pudding to pull me out into the dining room, where I could see that our tables were far, far fuller than I’d assumed. Thankfully, the seats at the very front of the restaurant were still vacant, for that was where Spaghetti had chosen to position himself. He sat, straight-backed at the very first table, the fingers of one hand drumming impatiently upon the table top, the others seemed to be toying with something at his belt. Something that looked suspiciously like a…

“Go on, go on.” Pudding hissed into my ear, pushing me halfway towards Spaghetti’s table before barrelling himself back towards the kitchen, where I could see Tempura standing ready, his massive arms once again folded tightly across his chest. But as Pudding had said, he couldn’t exactly punt Spaghetti through the restaurant windows with customers around.

Oh, but _I_ could.

Jaw clenched, I stalked across the restaurant floor, my footsteps echoing loudly, even with all the chatter going on behind me. As a result, it didn’t take long for Spaghetti to glance up at me, an oily smile creeping across his face as I approached.

“Ah! Attendant Noyabrina, how lovely to see you again.”

“What do you want, Spaghetti?” I asked coldly, stopping dead at his table, trying my absolute hardest not to burst out laughing at the utterly appalled look that crossed his face at my question. It seemed to take him a while to really get his bearings together after that.

“Surely you know what I want,” he sneered, in an equally icy tone, “what else could I have come here for? I’m certainly not here to try your food, really, I’m surprised that you have as many customers as you do. Potatoes and roast beef really is the most basic form of Gloriville cuisine.”

I snorted, it was all I could think to do, after all, and petty insults were a sign that someone was losing the battle. Or so I hoped.

“People like the classics, perhaps? Either way, it’s making me money.”

“You are _scraping_ by, Attendant Noyabrina, and don’t pretend that you are doing any better than that.” Spaghetti said haughtily, rising from his chair to tower above me, but I found myself distracted from his rather daunting height by the ‘weapon’ he held in a holster at his belt. “Now then, as you are aware, you have something of mine that… Excuse me, _what_ is so funny?”

Shoulders shaking with mirth, I leant against the table heavily for support, suddenly quite unable to think of any retort other than…

“Is that a _fork?_ Is that your weapon? Seriously? A damn _fork?”_

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see heads turning in the restaurant, and I could hear people whispering to one another, what they were saying was completely beyond me, but the fact that we had caught their attention had not been lost on Spaghetti, who – to my delight – looked thunderstruck.

“How… How _dare_ you scoff at me like that!” He blustered, advancing towards me, a gloved hand coming to rest on the hilt of the utensil at his belt. “It seems to me that you have absolutely no idea who you’re talking to, woman! I’m practically royalty! Do you understand? Royalty!”

“Oh, I can certainly see that!” I exclaimed, gesturing to him with my free hand, trying my best to calm myself down, despite my boost in confidence, I still didn’t much fancy the idea of being _skewered._ “But, honestly, that really doesn’t mean that much to me. I come from the North, you see… Do you want me to tell you what we did to _our_ royalty?”

Spaghetti faltered, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second, before the sound of a weapon being drawn filled the room, and I suddenly found myself faced with three, very sharp looking prongs.

“Was that a _threat?”_ He asked, his voice low and dangerous, vibrating in his chest like a growl.

I glanced down at the fork, realising that he’d angled it directly towards my neck, the serrated steel just threatening to brush my throat. I swallowed, eyes flitting between him and the weapon poised to pierce my throat, nobody was whispering anymore, in fact I couldn’t recall ever hearing the restaurant so quiet. Even Tempura and Pudding seemed reluctant to act, and with good reason, Spaghetti was a man who was no doubt willing to play very, very dirty to get his way, even if it meant endangering human lives. It wasn’t just my life at stake here, it was those of the customers too.

“Not at all.” I assured him, chancing a nervous smile, my brain working overtime to try and think of a solution. One thing was for certain, however, I could _not_ let this man have B-52, I just couldn’t, I could see that fact as clearly as day, under no circumstances could I let this botched exchange happen. B-52 deserved far, far more than this, and _I_ could fix him! Of course I could! I’d find a way, I would fix him if it was the last thing I ever did!

Spaghetti surveyed me for a moment, the grip on his weapon never wavering, I didn’t dare move, but the sensation of those cold, violet eyes roaming over my face was almost too horrible to withstand. It felt as if he was trying to look into my mind, to figure out my weaknesses, to work out just how he could break me.

“I do not wish to fight, Attendant Noyabrina, I have already acted out far, far more than I intended to, I do not mean to scare your customers” he sighed, a faux hint of sympathy worming its way into his voice, “the gold I offered you can still be yours, and your business can still go on like normal, no one needs to get hurt here. But of course, there is no such thing as a free lunch…”

Grimacing unpleasantly, he jerked the fork up so that its prongs now dug cruelly into the soft flesh beneath my jaw, I stood as still as I could, my hands balled into tiny fists, my eyes burning.

_”Where is B-52?”_

All of a sudden, everything seemed to fall into place.

Carefully, tentatively, I let my shoulders sag, I allowed my eyes to dip down, and made sure that the sigh that left my mouth was as loud and as long as I could make it.

“He’s… In the stockroom.” I muttered, my voice low and hushed, peppered with defeat. “Just… Take him and go, please.”

The change in his manner was quite alarming, it was as if someone had flicked a switch, for God’s sake. With a flourish, Spaghetti drew his fork back, his face splitting into an almost jolly smile, his eyes sparkling with glee.

“Thank you ever so much, Attendant Noyabrina. I assure you that you will be rewarded handsomely for this, ah, and maybe something else too! Just to make the deal a little sweeter, hm?”

Chuckling to himself, he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, sheathed his weapon effortlessly, and began to move across the restaurant floor towards the stockroom, ignoring the stupefied looks that decorated the faces of each and every diner he passed.

“B-52 Cocktail!” He called, the smugness in his voice was almost unbearable. “Come out, now. There’s no sense in hiding from me, after all, how is a toy as _big_ as you supposed to hide in such a small room?”

I reeled, I had to do _something,_ Pudding and even Tempura may have been against me making a scene, but I had reached my limit, there was no way I was letting him take even one more step. Fists clenched, I hared after him, ideas and thoughts flashing through my mind, each one more ludicrous than the last; throw a table; throw a chair; choke him out? There really wasn’t a whole lot of choice, everything was happening so quickly, but honestly, was there really anything holding me back from just…

In a flash, my foot whizzed through the air, catching both of the completely oblivious Spaghetti’s ankles with a sharp _crack,_ sweeping them out from underneath him. With an alarmed yelp, he threw out both his arms in some wild attempt to save himself, but a table to his right did a far better job. A horrid, sickening _thud_ sounded throughout the restaurant as his temple collided with the wood and within seconds, he had crumpled into a groaning heap on the floor, clutching his head in his gloved hands.

From the doorway, I heard Pudding let out a small, mortified scream, accompanied by a bellowing laugh and a round of tumultuous applause from Tempura. All around me, I could hear murmurs, shocked whispering, and perhaps the odd, nervous laugh as Spaghetti struggled up from the floor, his eyes wide and his hands shaking.

Knowing that it wasn’t exactly honourable to attack a man on the floor, I waited until he had stumbled to his feet before lunging again. Spaghetti, already considerably rumbled, let out a startled yelp as I shot out my hand to grasp the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to my eye level.

“Get _out_ of my restaurant.” I breathed, and I was pleased to see that he didn’t look quite so smug anymore, on the contrary, he looked completely lost for words. Behind us, I heard a door creak open just a crack, and I glanced up to see B-52’s face just peeking out from the stockroom, he looked – for lack of a better word – completely stunned.

Oddly spurred on by the knowledge that he was watching, I yanked Spaghetti forward, half leading, half dragging him towards the door. I felt little to no resistance, but he was far from quiet anymore, he gabbled and he spluttered, trying his best to form even the slightest shadow of a coherent sentence, but I didn’t give him the chance.

“Get _out_ and stay out!” I hissed, yanking him across the threshold and out the door. “I’m fucking _sick_ of people like you, strutting around like you think you own everything! I’m not about to put up with you coming in here and walking all over me to get what you want. Now get _out!”_

With that, I clenched my fist and _threw_ him into the street.

It took me a few, blurred, desperate seconds to figure out exactly what I had done, but by that time, he was clambering to his feet again, his eyes popping out of their sockets, his teeth bared in a near snarl. I swallowed, stepping back into the restaurant, my whole body tingling with the force of my assault, had anyone seen? Fuck, of course they’d seen, how couldn’t they have seen a woman my size hurling a man over a foot taller than her into the street?

“You! You will… You will **pay, _dearly_** for this!” Spaghetti was bellowing, clutching at his throat, his face as red as his hair. “I don’t know _who_ you think you are! But I’ll… I will _ruin_ you! I’ll reduce your business to _nothing!_ Do you hear me, woman?! This is the **end** for you!”

But apparently, the humiliation was just too much for him to bear, as all it took was one, last glance into the restaurant before he stormed away, up towards an elaborately decorated chariot, flanked by several stunned Food Souls, and two enormous black horses, scuffing the cobbles with their hooves and flicking their ears at all the noise. I watched his departure numbly, leaning weakly against the door for support, my mind doing its best to catch up with my actions, but as the chariot weaved away back up the narrow street, Pudding’s panicked voice in my ear soon brought me right back down to the ground.

“What have you done? Oh, Gods above, Master Attendant, _what have you done?”_ He was groaning, clawing at his hair with shaking fingers, his own eyes bulging with fear. _”What have you done?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh mah gad she fucken ded.
> 
> No, for real, she's dead, Noodle Man is going to pummel her into the ground for this gyftrg.
> 
> THANK YOU. SO MUCH. To those who are still with me and who are still reading this! It's dragging on something rotten, but real shit is starting to happen now, don't you worry about that!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

You will pay _**dearly**_ for this.

I will _ruin_ you.

This is the _end_ for you!

-

I snapped opened my eyes with a sharp, short intake of breath, only to find myself faced with the cracked, poorly plastered ceiling of my room, illuminated by the faint light of early dawn shining in through my window. 

It took me a while to realise that there was a pain in my throat, a ghastly, dry ache that made me splutter each time I tried to swallow. Wincing, I fumbled about on my bedside table for the glass of water I always kept there, and hastily gulped down half of it, sighing with relief as the liquid made short work of completely soothing the dryness that had no doubt interrupted my sleep.

Was that what had woken me? Maybe it was the headache… Or my general state of wellbeing, as for some reason I felt like I’d been dragged backwards through a bramble bush. But I’d slept through worse before, much worse, had I really been woken up because of a little tickle in my throat?

Frowning, I suddenly became aware of a noise outside, a jerky, wailing noise that sounded close enough to be coming from right below my window. It was without a doubt the same noise that Pudding and I had heard. 

Ah, well that explained why I’d been jerked awake, it really did sound far, far nearer than before.

Tired, achy, but nonetheless curious, I hauled myself out of bed and squinted through the dusty glass of my window. Nothing outside looked out of the ordinary, just the usual grassy stretch, bordered by the forest in which I’d seen that shadowy figure all those days ago.

Christ, had it only been days? It felt like _months._

The wailing continued on and on outside, never once giving me even the slightest inclination of where it was coming from. I stared out into the trees, thoroughly annoyed, until a resounding _thunk_ from downstairs followed by a series of clattering and rattles brought me out of my reverie. It was ridiculously early after all, even Pudding wouldn’t be up at this hour, surely, but he no doubt _would_ be if whoever was making all of that noise didn’t cut it out soon.

Though I had a pretty decent idea of who was behind all the racket, I made my way downstairs to investigate anyway, there was no hope of me getting back to sleep with that _yowling_ once again ruining an otherwise peaceful dawn.

“B-5… Oy pizdec, what happened to you?”

B-52 was lying on his side on the floor of the stockroom, steam rising slowly but surely up from his shivering frame, swirling in the air above him. Startled, I dashed over to him, and with great difficulty managed to half lift, half drag him up into a sitting position. He was definitely compos mentis, but he quite clearly wasn’t feeling his best, I could see it in the way his head lolled heavily onto his shoulder, and how his usually piercing blue eye seemed to have dimmed a bit since my last talk with him.

“Cold…” He managed, a shiver once again wracking his body, still unable to lift his head. “Steam… Engine power… Shortage.”

“Is it cold?” I asked, blinking with confusion, suddenly aware of my breath fogging before me in clouds, mingling with the steam leaking from the huge Food Soul. “I didn’t feel… Wait, that’s odd, the heating should be on! Hold on, let me go and turn it up a bit. Um… I’ll get you some water too, to top up your engine. Don’t move, alright? I’ll be two minutes.”

As I ran back out and into the kitchen, the cold air around me suddenly showed its fangs, and it bit mercilessly at every inch of exposed skin, creeping down my pyjama top, turning the tip of my nose to ice. Shuddering, I grabbed a milk jug from the sink draining board, and moved to the side to fill it up with water. 

Only to find that the tap wouldn’t run.

“What the hell?”

Grumbling to myself, I tried the tap again, twisting it both ways, hoping to coax it into giving me what I wanted, but nothing happened. The hot tap yielded similar results, or a lack thereof.   
Suddenly concerned, I put down the milk jug and moved across the kitchen to where I knew the boiler was stored. Pudding normally kept it all maintained, so I had never really looked at the thing until now, but I knew enough about boilers to know that this one was quite clearly _not_ working. It wasn’t even on, for God’s sake, it looked like it had been abruptly shut off in the middle of the night, which would explain the sudden cold. 

What was going on? I was sure I’d set it up to run throughout the night. Was there a power cut? How was I supposed to earn money with no power?

Christ, Pudding would have a fit. Perhaps it would be kinder to let him know now before any customers turned up. I had half a mind to wrench the thing open and have a go at fixing it myself, but I knew that it was no good here. Perhaps if I were back home and had the help I needed, I could’ve tried, but it was too risky to just guess.

I slunk back upstairs, making a brief stop to my room to pick up what was left of the water sitting on my bedside table. I reasoned that B-52 would have to deal with a limited supply until we could get the power back on, he’d be fine, he’d dealt with far worse.

“Pudding?” I called softly, rapping my knuckles against his door. “I think our power is out… It might be a temporary thing, but I think we’d better prepare ourselves for the worst just in case it isn’t.”

There was no reply, which even I had to admit was odd, Pudding wasn’t a particularly heavy sleeper, and when faced with a problem like this, I would’ve expected him to be tearing his hair out by now.

“Pudding?”

Still no response.

I really wasn’t keen on the idea of just letting myself into his room, normally I would’ve given up, but this wasn’t a normal day, he would understand, surely. Grimacing slightly, I pushed open the door, my mouth poised and ready to speak again, but the words never came, and my jaw slackened completely as it dropped.

Pudding’s bed was empty.

Confused and somewhat desperate, I hurried out of his room, knocking quickly on Tempura’s door this time before letting myself in regardless of whether or not he replied. Completely bewildered, I stared around wildly, desperate to catch some glimpse of the huge Defence Soul, but his room was just as deserted as Pudding’s. 

_Where the hell were they?_

“B-52?” I called, my voice half masked by the noise I made as I came thundering back down the stairs. “Pudding and Tempura are gone, did you see them leave? Did they go out to the market or something?”

Still obviously low on power, B-52 jerked his head up at my voice, his one working eye heavily lidded as he struggled to get me into focus.

“Sh-hh-all I start o-op-perating?”

“God, you’re really lagging.” I groaned, moving over to him, the glass of half-drunk water held shakily in my hand. “This is all we have, I’m sorry, none of the taps will work, I’ll get you some more when they’re actually running again. Um… Now, how exactly do I go about doing this?”

Huffing greatly with the effort, B-52 dragged up his working arm, gesturing weakly to the back of his neck, where upon closer inspection I could see a tiny metal panel set into the synthetic skin. It felt so _odd_ to me that such a huge man who could move and fight like he had was only powered by steam, but I’d learned long ago never to underestimate machinery.

No, wait. _Not_ a machine. Looks like a machine, but definitely doesn’t want to be seen as one.

Tentatively, I dug my fingers into the grove of the panel, pulling it up so that I could pour the remainder of my water into it. I didn’t dare look down it, afraid that I’d see something I didn’t want to, but thankfully there wasn’t all that much left in the glass. Despite the small amount, it made a world of difference to B-52, who almost immediately sat up a little straighter, that ‘wheesh’ of steam once again filling the room, accompanied by several more those musical, metal clicks.

“Shall I start operating?” He asked crisply, stretching out his back and his working arm.

“Yeah, if you want.” I replied, too busy trying to see out of the window above his head to really pay him any attention. My heart was thrumming wildly in my chest and my eyes bulged as I scanned the outside, though what I was hoping to see was beyond me, I couldn’t think straight, and my ears were still full of that awful _yowling._

“Jesus Christ, what _is_ that noise?” I groaned, though the question was mostly in rhetoric. “It’s not even a noise you can ignore, it’s like someone strangling a cat.”

“It is someone singing traditional Peking opera, Miss Nonna.” Came B-52’s voice from somewhere to my right, once again sounding as if he had rehearsed what he was saying. “If I am not mistaken, they are singing a well-known excerpt from the ‘Scheme of an Empty City’ piece.”

I stared at him, wondering how exactly I could reply to that, but really I was mostly surprised at the fact that the noise was _singing._ Well, then again, I had brought that possibility up to Pudding before, and after all, Peking opera was probably to be expected in a place like Gloriville.

“Opera, huh? How do you know that?”

B-52 didn’t reply immediately, but rather tilted his head, his working eye staring far off into the distance, he seemed to be listening to the song droning on and on outside, though I couldn’t think why.

“Master Spaghetti is partial to Peking opera,” he answered finally, nodding his head, “he held performances often at his estate. I was always on duty during those performances, but I was still able to hear the music.”

“I feel sorry for you,” I muttered, sinking down to sit atop one of the many crates dotted about the stock room, cradling my aching head in my hands, “I can see why he likes it, though. Both he and it are good at giving me a headache.”

“As a matter of fact.” B-52 went on, as if he hadn’t heard me. “They are clearly a professional. I can tell by their intonation that they have been singing for many years.”

“Sure sounds like it,” I mumbled sarcastically, but I couldn’t sit still, and I couldn’t seem to think straight either, “look, B, I don’t want to be rude, but my restaurant has no power, and both Tempura and Pudding are missing. Did you see them leave at any point during the night? Please, I can’t open up the restaurant in this state, what am I supposed to serve to my customers?”

“My apologies. Perhaps they… Mmn…” B-52 sighed, and he suddenly seemed to dip again, his head drooping forward onto his chest. “I… Cannot remember seeing them. I am sorry.”

I watched him helplessly, that water clearly hadn’t been enough to keep him running, but how was I meant to help him when there was no running water here? I sat, panicked for a moment or two, before a solution finally hit me, and I leapt to my feet, my heart once again beating loudly in my ears. Of course! Who had said that I could come to her if I ever found myself in trouble?

“B! Will you be okay here on your own for a little while?” I asked, patting the unblemished side of the Food Soul’s face in an attempt to wake him up, trying very hard not to let my curiosity overcome me. I could _feel_ the metalwork beneath the skin, warm and humming lightly with the last dregs of power in his engine. Once again, I found myself struck with that overwhelming awe, but I squashed it down, there were far more pressing matters to take care of.

“I’ll lock the doors so no Fallen can get in, I should only be an hour or so, I’m going to try and find some help, alright?”

“Mnh hm.”

I watched him slowly sink lower and lower where he sat, his torso dipping and his head lolling comically as he fought to keep sitting up. With an odd, searing pain suddenly present in my chest, I moved over to him, gently coaxing him up into a sitting position before exiting the room quickly to retrieve my duvet from upstairs. It was cold after all, and he needed all the warmth he could get if he had no steam to power him.

“Be… Careful.” I heard him mutter out of the corner of his mouth, his head turning this way and that as I draped my duvet over his massive frame as best I could, it was almost as if he was dreaming. “Nonno… Be careful.”

“It’s _Nonna,_ B.” I sighed, straightening up, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of my eyes. It didn’t feel right just to leave him here, lying on the stockroom floor as if he was something I could just stow away when I didn’t need him, but as far as I could see, there were no other options.

-

As I left, there was a worry in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to remember where I was going, it had been a long, long time since I’d been to that part of Gloriville after all. But fortunately, I soon found myself recognising streets, signs, and those oddly _new_ and uniform looking houses that had stood out so much to me when I’d first arrived.

I made my way through the cobbled streets, thinking over what I was going to say in my head, only to suddenly realise that the people I passed all seemed to be staring at me strangely. Not that they wanted me to know, as every single one of them would quickly avert their eyes the second I glanced back at them, but apart from that, they weren’t making much of an effort to hide it.  
Any other day, I would’ve been worried, and on a good day perhaps I would’ve even stopped to ask them what the hell their problem was, but I had bigger things to worry about, mainly the tsunami wave of questions built up in my brain, held weakly back by a faulty dam, fit to burst at any moment.

At long last, I came to the house I wanted, and quickly knocked upon its door with a new, refreshing feeling of relief, of _hope_ in my chest. Zhouyun would know what to do; she had always been ever so keen to extend a helping hand to me.  
However, Zhouyun wasn’t the one who answered the door, and I soon found myself staring up into the doll-like face of Yuxiang, who – upon realising who had knocked – regarded me with a strange, almost pitying expression.

“Oh, Miss Nonna,” she sighed, glancing quickly back into the house before moving out onto the porch, closing the door tightly behind her, “I’m so sorry, but my Master Attendant isn’t home. Are you quite alright? You look pale, oh what a terrible thing to happen to you, so soon after starting your new life here.”

“Huh?” I mumbled, more than a little dumbstruck, Yuxiang wasn’t her usual, pleasant and happy self, quite on the contrary in fact! She was looking at me as if someone had died, for Heaven’s sake, what was going on? “I’m… Fine, Yuxiang, but, listen, nothing in my restaurant is working, and I can’t find any of my staff. I think there must be a power cut, but we’re also out of water, so I was wondering if you could…”

“Oh dear,” Yuxiang interrupted, uttering a short, sharp gasp, “oh, you poor thing. Hasn’t Madam Olivia told… Hm, I suppose not, you are here very early after all.”

“What… Are you talking about?” I asked, though my stomach was suddenly writhing with fear. “Yuxiang? Yuxiang, please, I’m all on my own in the restaurant, and the only Food Soul I have left is out of action, I need help, _please.”_

Yuxiang let out a sigh, a small, sad sound, apparently thinking over what I’d said, before she turned and opened up the door to the house again, beckoning me inside with an elegant gesture of her hand.

“Come in. I’ll prepare you some tea, you’re going to need it.”

Riddled with fear, I stepped inside the house, remembering this time to take off my shoes before following the Food Soul into the kitchen once again. Yuxiang immediately busied herself with the tea, bringing down all the odd utensils that Zhouyun had used when I’d first arrived here. I took up my seat at the table once again, feeling very much like I had all that time ago, lost and completely unsure of what to do or say, with Yuxiang gliding around me as if she were on wheels.

“Here you are,” she spoke finally, setting a steaming cup of tea down in front of me, her voice gentle and tender, as if she were nursing me back to health from some deadly disease, “now then. You’d best drink that up before I tell you what’s happened, I can say to you now that it’s going to cause you quite a bit of…”

“Olivia has something to do with my restaurant being out of action, doesn’t she?” I interrupted, finally voicing my concerns, but I did as she said and brought the teacup up to my lips, trying to ignore the fact that my hands were shaking. “Yuxiang, please, I can’t stay long, I just need to know what’s happened, and who I need to talk to so I can put it right.”

“Oh, Miss Nonna, I really don’t know how much you’ll be able to do,” Yuxiang murmured, reaching out to set a warm, delicate hand upon my wrist, “I heard a message on the wind, you see, everyone around here has. My Master Attendant will know a great deal more about this than I do, but… I can at least tell you that the contracts you made with both of your Food Souls have definitely been terminated, and they have been returned to the summoning circle, that is why you cannot find them. As for your restaurant, well, yes I suppose Madam Olivia is responsible for that, there really is only one thing that this could all mean, Miss Nonna.”

She glanced up at me, her normally warm, amber eyes filled with a terrible, cold sorrow. I stared back at her blankly, trying to take it all in, trying to follow the process of all the pieces gradually falling into place. Of course, now it all made sense, what with the power being out, Tempura and Pudding both being gone while B-52 was left behind, and even the strange looks I’d received on my journey here. Numbly, I forced myself to recall my last exchanges with both Olivia and Spaghetti, the latter threatening to end my business completely, and Olivia warning me of that same outcome should I anger the aristocratic Food Soul.

And anger him I had, as well as humiliated him in front of his staff and my customers. Truly the equivalent of shoving one’s hand into a hungry lion’s mouth, and then screaming when said hand was then _mauled_ beyond belief.

“I am so deeply sorry.” Yuxiang was saying, though her voice sounded far away, muffled. “But, please do not blame yourself too harshly for this, many new Cooking Attendants find it hard to make a living here in Gloriville.”

I glanced up at her, frowning deeply, half tempted to tell her everything that had happened… But found myself struggling to find the words. 

Terminated…

Returned to the summoning circle… 

“I… Didn’t even get to say goodbye to them.” I finally mumbled to her, barely aware of what I was saying, and all I could do was look on helplessly as my vision steadily blurred with tears. “To my Food Souls.”

“Oh, there, there!” Yuxiang cried, that hand reaching out to rub my shoulder. “Just a moment, I’ll get you a handkerchief, alright?”

She moved away, leaving me to stare down at my lap, watching as the tears fell, staining my work trousers, the sight was made all the more worse by the knowledge that I probably wouldn’t need them anymore. Vaguely, I registered the sound of Yuxiang talking from another room, calling to me as she searched for something I could dry my eyes with.

“If it is any comfort to you, Miss Nonna! This may sound strange of me to say, but it is probably best if you have no ties to this City, these are… Strained, strange times we are living in, yes, yes, at the end of the day, I can safely say to you that you will be much better off far, far away from here.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” I replied dully, glancing up as the Food Soul finally returned, and I reached out to take the offered handkerchief with a mutter of thanks. “Strained times, Olivia… Said that to me, I think her Food Soul did too. Christ, why’s everyone so cryptic here, Yuxiang? It drives me mad, tell me _why_ I’d be better off away from here, that’s all I want to know. What could be so horrible that it makes me losing my restaurant and my friends a good thing, huh?”

My question hung sourly in the air, like a whiff of something that had gone rotten; in fact Yuxiang seemed almost repulsed by it. At that moment, I could clearly see that she was wrestling against her better judgement, yet as I continued to dry my eyes, she _finally_ spoke.

“The Fallen have been acting… Strangely, lately.” She began, the soft pads of her fingertips drumming lightly against her thigh. “Stranger than usual, they have always roamed the streets at night, but recently they seem to roam with a purpose. They gather in groups, it’s almost like an arrangement; they talk to one another too, believe it or not, as if they’re all aware of some big, dark secret… This isn’t normal behaviour for them, Miss Nonna, the Fallen are known to hunt and kill anyone unlucky enough to cross their paths, but now they seem distracted, on edge. It’s almost as if they’re all waiting for something.”

I stared at her, brow furrowed, so wrapped up in what she was saying that I even managed to ignore the hollow ache choked up in my throat. Really, the Fallen had always seemed on edge to me, but then again, I had only ever encountered a few here in Gloriville, thank God. 

“Miss Nonna,” Yuxiang went on, now fixing me with a startlingly serious look, “are you aware of something called a _’turned’_ human?”

“Um, y-yeah, yeah.” I responded, thinking back to what Pudding and Tempura had told me, before I stopped myself. Thinking about them was painful. “Humans who have transformed into Fallen, right? I didn’t even know that could happen.”

“Hmmn,” the Food Soul remarked, balancing her chin atop her neatly laced fingers, “fortunately, such an occurrence is extremely rare, but almost every Food Soul I have discussed this with seems to think that there is a human here in Gloriville who is about to turn, and the Fallen can _sense_ it.”

Yuxiang paused, leaning over to pour us both more tea, but I could hardly wait for her to finish, my insides were writhing again. For a brief second, the temptation to tell her about B-52 mistaking me for a turned human surfaced in my mind, but I pushed it away at the last minute. It was best not to risk it…

“Normally, a turned human can be dealt with like any other Fallen,” the Food Soul went on, “and it is in fact kinder to do so, turning is _not_ a pleasant experience from what I have read. But other times, we find ourselves faced with a much more dangerous situation, like now.”

“What makes this more dangerous, then?” I asked, still with that hint of curiosity sparking in my brain.

“Because of what history tells us,” Yuxiang replied, an odd warmth suddenly sparking behind her eyes, “you should never gloss over history, Miss Nonna, not when it is so clearly about to repeat itself. Accounts from a decade ago document similar events to what is happening now for example; the agitated Fallen, darkening skies, a drop in temperature. Have you felt it, Miss Nonna? Don’t you think it’s far too cold for early September?”

“I… Guess.” I lied, but then again, I’d never paid much attention to the cold in my life. Though even I had to admit that the sudden, plummeting temperatures inside my restaurant earlier had been a little shocking, even with the heating off, surely the walls were insulated.

“Humans – and you’ll forgive me for saying this – are generally fragile creatures,” Yuxiang went on, “delicate, easily influenced. Both their minds and bodies are vulnerable to sickness, and a sick mind is only the beginning…

“Turned humans can come in all shapes and sizes, according to my books. Some are lucky, and turn into the weaker Fallen, ones that can be killed quickly and – hopefully – painlessly, but others are not so fortunate. Others who’s minds are diseased, and who have spent so long wallowing in bitterness, stewing in their own sorrow, living day to day consumed by hatred or a longing for revenge… Can become something much, much nastier indeed.”

I sat, stunned, all worries about the state of my restaurant momentarily gone from my mind. I found myself thinking back to the way B-52 had advanced on me, attacking me with no second thought, and finally seemed to understand why he’d done it. 

“We call it an _’enhanced’_ Fallen.” Yuxiang was saying, leaning over to pour me more tea, as if that would help to ease my racing mind. “An insanely powerful Fallen Angel born out of the corrupted and warped body of a human, so consumed by their own mind that the result can end up being very, very dangerous indeed. It all depends on who that human is, and how far they have buried themselves in their own vices. 

“I am afraid that, if there is a human about to turn in Gloriville, it will not go unnoticed for long, and unless we find them soon, given the signs, I… Really don’t know how much damage they will be able to do. Therefore, I deduce that it is for the best if you leave, Miss Nonna, while you still can.”

“Does Zhouyun know about this?” I asked abruptly, glancing up at the Food Soul, my brow furrowed with worry. “What about the rest of Gloriville? If this is really as big as you say it is, why aren’t people evacuating? There should be… Some kind of National emergency announced, surely. I thought preservation of human life was everyone’s top priority.”

“People are very reluctant to believe things in books nowadays,” Yuxiang sighed regrettably, taking a delicate sip from her own teacup, “yes, Miss Nonna, I have _tried_ to warn my Master Attendant of what I believe is to come… She is worried, but has yet to take me completely seriously. But I suppose I cannot blame her, as of right now – though she has seen the Fallen’s strange behaviour for herself – she only has my word to go on. Apart from yourself, Madam Olivia is so far the only other person to show a real interest in this, but at the end of the day, we must face the fact that I may be completely misjudging the situation.”

I sat back in my chair, thinking hard, but it was hard to grasp hold of one single thought when there were so many clogging up my brain. No matter how hard I tried to think of something to say, nothing would come, I was well aware that Yuxiang’s warning could’ve been pure guesswork, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t let it go. There was just far, far too much for me to think of, and it all sat there in my head, simmering away, threatening to boil over if I didn’t put a lid on it…

But I didn’t, I couldn’t, and I soon found my head in my hands, and heard a long, helpless groan leave me.

“I think you had better go,” Yuxiang said quietly, and I felt her hand on the small of my back, “whether you choose to leave or not, I’m afraid that you still have to move all of your things out of your restaurant. No doubt Madam Olivia will need it empty for the next Cooking Attendant who sets up shop there.”

All I could do was nod, her words were hollow and cold, but I knew she was only trying to help, and a part of me was thankful that she hadn’t tried to sugar coat what had happened. My next steps were unclear, foggy, a map of roads zigzagging in all directions, each one as endless and unfamiliar as the last, but I’d have to take one, lest I stay stuck in one place forever.

Or maybe I should stay in one place, who knew… 

I could tell that the shock of losing both Tempura and Pudding as well as the prospect of losing my restaurant hadn’t quite sunk in yet, but I could feel it rising as Yuxiang showed me to the door. That familiar ache of guilt in my chest was back yet again, sitting there, heavy and cold like someone had rolled a boulder on top of me.

“Once again, I must tell you how sorry I am,” Yuxiang soothed, standing in the doorway, her dainty hands held clasped in front of her, “if you need anything at all, please come to us. I have no doubt that my Master Attendant will want to see you, regardless of whether you have your restaurant or not. She’s taken a real shine to you, Miss Nonna.”

I turned to go, my face sullen and my feet dragging across the cobbles, I could tell that the people walking past me were staring at me again, and of course they were… Cooking Attendants may come and go, but I doubted they’d ever seen one who hadn’t even managed to last a month. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I shouldn’t have baited Spaghetti; this wasn’t 1918, this outcome really ought to have been expected, but despite the warnings, for whatever reason I just hadn’t taken it seriously enough. Now it was far too late.

But perhaps, somehow, I could still do some good.

“Um… Hey, Yuxiang?” I called softly, turning back to the door, trying to keep the urge to cry out of my voice. “Do you… Ah… H-Have any bottled water?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy..... 
> 
> hooooooooooo boy.....


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

As the day crawled on, and the sun gradually burnt away the chilly, early morning mist, my stomach slowly but surely began to cramp up again.

I walked, bleary-eyed and wracked with pain, through Gloriville’s cobbled streets, weighed down by own thoughts and by the bag of bottled water Yuxiang had given me, but even that couldn’t convince me to turn back to the restaurant any quicker. It was selfish – that I knew – to dawdle around like this while B-52 languished on the floor of my restaurant, but the drive to finally walk back just wouldn’t come. 

All I could feel was a horrid, cold sense of dread, mingling in the pit of my stomach, heavy and intrusive like a feeling of nausea, and nothing I conjured up in my head could get it to shift.  
I kept to the back streets, though I had no idea where I was going, it was almost as if I were in a trance, and that each time I put one foot in front of the other, someone else was deciding where that step would take me. I could’ve been miles away from the restaurant at that point and I wouldn’t have realised, and I highly doubted that I would’ve cared either.

I hadn’t even made it _a month._

After what felt like hours, I found myself finally sinking down to sit on something. A tree stump, or maybe a log, whatever, it was a place to rest, and a place to slowly hunch over with a groan, my eyes screwed shut at the pain in my stomach.

What the hell was I going to do? I’d been advised, encouraged, _urged_ by my desperate, ashen-faced loved ones to _get away_ from my home, and for good reason. Everything I’d known there had been laid to waste by the Fallen, to such an extent that the very ground I’d lived on all my life had been stripped bare. How I’d survived such brutal and total _destruction_ was completely beyond me.

Well, it wasn’t entirely beyond me – of course – my sister had been the one who had ensured my survival, I thought, dropping my head down into my hands. If it hadn’t been for her, God knows where I would’ve ended up, or what I would’ve become, indeed, the knowledge that it was down to her sacrifice and her sacrifice alone that I was here in the first place was incredibly bitter to think about now. 

Perhaps I’d just _forgotten_ that she was the reason I’d survived? Maybe, just maybe if I’d remembered, I wouldn’t have been so quick to butt heads with Spaghetti. But then again, I couldn’t see her being _proud_ of me letting him trample all over me either, it was all so, so convoluted and horrible to think about now. I had no hope of knowing what she would’ve wanted, or what she would’ve said if she’d been witness to any of this.

God, why on earth hadn’t I thought of her before?

But really, did I want to think about her now? Or anyone else who’d jumped through hoops to get me to Tierra? Did I want to see their faces swimming before me, watching as I huddled further into myself, my body crumpled with pain? 

No… No I didn’t, I didn’t want them to know that their efforts had all been for nothing. 

Maybe it would be better if…

“You, girl! What are you doing out here?”

My head snapped up at the voice, harsh and loud enough to scare a flock of birds out of the tree above me. Bewildered, I looked around for the source, for I was sure I’d heard that voice somewhere before, but it didn’t take me long to find out.  
Hobbling up the dirt path towards me, assisted by an old wooden cane, was the sharp-tongued woman I’d met in the marketplace all those mornings ago. 

Really, it was a marvel that she was even walking in the first place, I thought, every inch of her seemed to be riddled with arthritis, but still she walked on almost out of spite, her feet shuffling through the dirt, a gnarled hand raised as she gesticulated.

“Sit up straight! I can’t see your face,” she was grumbling, shaking her head, “why are you sitting around out here at this hour? A Fallen will snatch you up for its supper!”

I didn’t reply, but I didn’t dare look away from her, oddly tempted to tell her that I really _wouldn’t mind_ if a Fallen happened to pass through here, being ripped to shreds would at least save me the shame of having to leave Tierra. My shoulders sagged a little as she drew nearer, hoping that she would give up and pass me by if I said nothing, but I had no such luck.

“Cat got your tongue?” She asked waspishly, tapping her stick impatiently on the ground as she came to a halt a few feet away from me, her lips taught and her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized my face. “Aha. Yes I recognise you now, you’re the one with the big nose! I thought so, but I couldn’t see you from so far away, my eyes… Hmph, wretched things.”

“Why… Are _you_ out here?” I croaked out a retort; my arms still wrapped tightly around my aching stomach. “A Fallen could catch you too, you’d…”

“Well why do you think I’m going home?” The old woman interrupted, leaning heavily on her cane, her gnarled hands clasped tightly atop it. “I have always walked this trail, ever since I was a tiny slip of a girl, but _you_ are a Cooking Attendant, are you not? Why are you so far from your restaurant?”

I reeled back, trying to fight down the surge of annoyance that threatened to pour out of my mouth. Her indignant, snappy tone was not what I needed right now, nor was the way she continued to stare expectantly at me, as if I owed her something.

“M’not a Cooking Attendant anymore, they sacked me,” I grunted, looking away, “no point in going back to my restaurant.”

“Don’t you grumble at me, girl,” the woman scolded, and all of a sudden I felt her rough palm tap my face, urging me to turn my head back towards her, “and don’t look away from me, show some respect, hm?”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” I replied harshly, my hands balling into fists against the rough fabric of my work shirt. “Please, leave me alone.”

She didn’t reply to that, but merely watched me for a moment as I lowered my gaze again, my hands locking behind my head in some desperate attempt to ground myself. I was half afraid that she’d strike me for being rude, she may have been old, but I could tell that she still had plenty of life in her, but instead all I heard was a sniff, and the slow shuffle of her feet through the dirt as she started to walk again.

I breathed out a sigh of relief, still with my hands clasped over my head, my eyes shut tight, hoping to completely block out the world, at least for a moment, but to no avail… Everything inside my head was an endless buzz of guilt and panic, swarming around my skull like angry bees, growing more and more agitated the longer I sat there.

“It’s a shame,” I heard the woman call, and her voice sounded further away now, somewhat masked by the birdsong that rang from every tree above our heads, “I have only ever known resilience from your sort. Nothing has ever been accomplished by sitting about, girl. Try to keep that in mind, won’t you?”

I flinched, hoping against hope that she’d shut up; only God knew how many people were around to hear her after all. But thankfully, her voice never rang out again, and I eventually summoned up the strength to look up, only to find myself alone once more on the dirt path, with nothing but the rustling trees overhead for company, and the odd, sharp snap of a twig being stepped on.

… Wait.

Suddenly alert; I looked around wildly, wondering if perhaps I was just being paranoid, I had been up since dawn after all, and my brain still swam with fears and doubts and everything in between, surely I was just hearing things.

**Snap! _Snap!_**

_‘From that, we can conclude that for whatever reason, something is trying to study you.’_

I stood up sharply, my skin marred with gooseflesh, my heart thudding painfully in my throat; it was as if the thought of Pudding’s words had ignited something within me, one last spark of hope. Things were bleak, things were worse than I could’ve ever imagined, but if I was going to die, I wasn’t going to let a worthless, dirt-ridden Fallen be the one to kill me. I owed everyone far, far better than that. 

If I couldn’t succeed here for them, at least I could stay alive for them.

Not daring to look back towards the source of the sound, I set off at a sprint, yanking the bag of bottled water up into my arms so that I could move faster, watching anxiously as the sun dipped lower and lower on the horizon. Had I really been wandering around for that long? What on earth had happened to me? Where had the day gone? Why had…

**Snap!**

Breathing heavily, I broke into a flat out run, ignoring the way my stomach clenched and twisted painfully as I went, dismissing the sounds suddenly billowing up from behind me. I began to tell myself over and over in my head, that those were _my_ footsteps I could hear rustling through the leaves, that was _my_ heavy breathing I could hear, that _wasn’t_ the swipe of a hand I felt at the back of my shirt.

Then, with a crash, I collided headfirst with a thicket of brambles, but despite the sting of the thorns digging cruelly into my flesh, I forced myself to ignore the pain, desperate to keep moving. Through the frantic rustling of brush around me, I somehow knew that I was on my own once again, and as I finally exited the thorny tangles, I spared a quick glance over my shoulder, sure that I was going to see some disgruntled Fallen slinking away, but there was no one there. No sounds, no movement, not even the slightest indication that anyone had ever been there.

Gasping for breath, and covered from head to toe in small, smarting cuts, I continued to struggle my way through the dry underbrush, following the light of the setting sun. As I moved, I soon began to recognise small parts of the forest around me, as if I had encountered them once before in a dream, but I knew that I must’ve seen them on my way in, despite the near catatonic state my mind had been in. I’d definitely been down this path before, I recognised the rotting leaf matter pressed flat against the forest floor by thousands upon thousands of shoes, I remembered the way it seemed to even out – slowly at first – into a stretch of cobbles, dotted with moss and cracked with age.

Soon, a sigh of relief sounded throughout the clearing, as I finally exited the dense trees and was almost immediately greeted by the familiar sight of Gloriville’s outskirts.

Time to go home, I thought bitterly.

-

After what felt like hours upon hours of walking carefully to avoid the darker parts of the narrow streets, I suddenly realised exactly where I was with a jolt of something bordering on happiness. I was in the market square, though every stall had been packed up at this hour, and there wasn’t a single person left on the street, save for a few stray pigeons, pottering about and pecking hopefully at the cobbles in search of scraps.

I made my way up the slight hill towards the restaurant, and despite the glow of contentment I’d felt before, I couldn’t help wondering if perhaps Olivia had already arrived, after all, Yuxiang had told me that I’d need to move everything out of the restaurant before anything was finalised. Maybe the formidable woman was waiting for me; indeed, the image of her standing rigidly by the front door wasn’t a hard one to conjure up. So vivid was the picture in my head, that it was actually quite a surprise to find no one waiting for me when I reached the restaurant at long last, in fact it didn’t look like it had changed at all since my departure early that morning.

As I let myself in, I made quick and almost routine work of bolting the door behind me, and immediately went to reach for the lights, before I remembered that the power was off, and no doubt would be until Olivia had completely evicted me. 

I would have to put up with this, I realised, it was all I could do for now, I had no idea when or how I was going to be thrown out, so making the most of a bad situation seemed like my best option.

_’Nothing has ever been accomplished by sitting around, you know.’_

Taking great care not to bash into anything, I gingerly weaved my way through the tables and towards the stockroom, trying to ignore the way my aching feet throbbed with each step I took. My stomach was no better either, and it gurgled sickeningly with protest as I once again forced myself to move, shoving open the stockroom’s ajar door with my shoulder.

B-52 was in the same position I’d left him in, but judging by the gentle whirring still coming from him, it was clear that by some miracle he hadn’t completely drained himself of power yet. I fumbled about in the bag I’d brought for the first bottle of water and quickly emptied it out into the same panel I’d used that morning, trying not to think of what would become of him once Olivia decided to show up. 

There was no telling what would become of me either, I thought once more, snapping open a second bottle, my brain yet again wracked with that uncomfortable realisation. I had little to no support here anymore with Pudding and Tempura gone, I hadn’t the slightest idea where Morag and Brownie were based, and Zhouyun… 

“Shall I start operating?”

That rehearsed, crisp question rang out yet again, and quite suddenly I found my wrist encased in an unforgiving, metal grip. I shuddered violently.

“Let go of me, B,” I urged him, a plea ringing in my voice, “I’m just trying to get you up and running again, okay?”

Now definitely awake, B-52 regarded me curiously, the light from his piercing, blue eye slowly growing brighter and brighter as the water did its work, I could hear it bubbling away inside of him as it boiled, generating steam that hissed out in jets from openings somewhere beneath his shirt. Perhaps if I had allowed myself to look at him a little more closely – and even now I still wanted to – I would’ve been able to spot them, but I had far bigger things to think about at that moment.

“My apologies.” He said quietly, releasing my hand, allowing me to continue my work, but it soon became apparent that not all was well with him. Though he sat still for me, his head would jerk this way and that, the whirring in his chest rising to a steady roar before dipping quite sharply down again to a gentle hum, sputtering slightly as it rose and fell in a jerky and messy pattern. It was easily one of the most stress-inducing noises I’d ever heard, and though I endeavoured to completely top him up, I made a point to get as far away from him as I could once I was satisfied with my work

“T-There, that should keep you going for a while,” I sighed, placing the unused bottles up onto a nearby crate for later before turning to face him, “B, I need you to listen to me, okay? The power isn’t coming back on, I’ve been given the sack. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be…”

“Miss Nonna. Please calm down.”

I choked on my words, my eyes widening as the massive Food Soul shifted, struggling to his feet. I didn’t dare stop him, but as he stood up, and up, and _up,_ I felt myself shrinking back a little, he really was the biggest man I’d ever seen, and the intensity of his gaze wasn’t helping to dispel the fear that had once again started to simmer away inside my chest.

“I’m… S-Sorry, really,” I uttered, wishing that I could do as he’d said, but my mind would not settle, and it continued to race, trying desperately to find a solution to an impossible problem, “I don’t know what… I don’t know what I’m going to do, B. I can’t stay here, I sh-shouldn’t have come back here at all, but I couldn’t just leave you like you were, you couldn’t even speak.”

“Miss Nonna. Your heart is beating at an alarmingly fast rate. Please **calm down.”**

I trembled, his voice had changed, dropped down from its usual pitch to a new, low rumbling akin to a roll of thunder. His shoulders hunched a little and his eye widened as he tilted his head with a chilling grating of metal, leaning further and further towards me, and despite my efforts to scramble back, I just couldn’t seem get away from him. He moved almost silently after me through the mess of the stockroom, observing my desperate attempts to get out of his way, agitation growing more and more prominent in his face.

 _“What are you?”_ He asked suddenly, sharply, and the pitch of his voice seemed even lower than before, gargling in his throat as if whatever vocal chords he had were struggling to work with such a note.

I sucked in a shaky breath, still trying my best to move away from him as quietly as I could, but he was moving faster now, clambering over the various crates and debris that littered the stockroom floor, using his one working arm to prop himself up against the wall, looming over me.

“B, please!” I suddenly squeaked out, my own voice distorted by fear. “Please! I’m just trying to help y…”

But I never got the chance to finish my sentence, as with a gargling growl, the hulking machine aimed for my head again, missing me by a hair as I ducked to avoid the blow, my whole body shaking with fear. 

**”WH-H-AA-AT. AR-RRE. YO-U-U?”** He bellowed out in obvious frustration, the words rendered almost inaudible by a series of glitches tearing at his already strained voice. Wildly, he rained down yet another blow, and the whole room around me quaked unbearably with the force.

Petrified, I held my hands over my head in an attempt to shield myself, my ears full with the dull thuds and crashes of various bits of kitchen equipment meeting the floor, shaken down from their shelves. I had to do _something,_ I thought frantically, if I didn’t act fast I would no doubt be rammed into the wall again, but there seemed to be absolutely no reasoning with him.

Then, a positively horrid thought came to my head, one that rendered me completely speechless until another blow came pelting down, narrowly missing my head and causing me to curl up into a ball, trying my best to avoid yet more items toppling down from the shelves above. What else could I do? Fight him? Let him kill me? What would I do then? What could I possibly hope to do then? 

Though my brain throbbed with the very thought of the man, I forced myself to think back to what Spaghetti had jeered at me, standing over me with that horrid, oily smile carved into his face.

_‘He’s a machine, an artificial Food Soul who knows no thought or feeling beyond instructions to engage in combat, and **I** am the one who relays those instructions.’_

There was absolutely _no_ guarantee that it would work, I wasn’t Spaghetti, and I wasn’t even sure if I should risk to raise my voice above the crashing and thudding all around me, but I had no other choice other than… _Than…!_

“B-52 COCKTAIL!” I yelped, holding out a hand in front of my face, my palm aimed towards him. ”I order you to **STOP!”**

Silence.

Deathly, unbearable silence, broken only occasionally by the clatter of another pot falling to the floor, or the ragged sound of my own breathing. 

I didn’t dare look, not at first, utterly afraid of what I might see, but as the silence wore on, my fear and curiosity soon overwhelmed me. Squinting through the kicked-up dust and the gaps between my own fingers, I could see that B-52 had gone completely rigid, though he still stood poised for attack, trembling mightily, clearly dying to strike at me again, but he didn’t budge, he _couldn’t_ budge.

It wasn’t in his programming to disobey.

As I lay beneath him, I felt something suddenly rush up within my chest, felt my eyes suddenly burn savagely, and soon enough I was blinded by a flurry of furious tears. 

“I-I’m sorry!” I bawled, barely able to form words through the torrent of emotion that continued to surge up from my chest, choking me almost to the point of breathlessness. “I’m s-so, so sorry, B! I’m sorry! W-What.. I.. W-What else could I have done!?”

He didn’t answer, of course he didn’t, I hadn’t _told_ him to, nobody had.

Sobbing bitterly, I scrambled out from where I’d been cornered, squeezing past his rigid form, out into the dining room and on into the kitchen where I fell against the sink, my head held in my hands and my shoulders shaking uncontrollably. 

What the Hell had I done? How on earth was I supposed to face him again after this? How could I, after I had done exactly what Spaghetti had no doubt been doing to him up until now? There was no way I could ever look him in the eye again after this, but then again – I thought bitterly – there may be no need to if Olivia had her way. 

After a while, I managed to stem the flow of my tears, though I didn’t move from where I’d bent myself over the sink, finding myself rather strangely reminded of the other time I had cried like this, when Pudding and I had first agreed to co operate with one another. The thought of Pudding caused my eyes to blur with tears once again, but I let them fall this time, sniffing loudly as I stared down into the sink’s porcelain basin, watching my tears collect into a little puddle.

This was truly one of the worst nights of my life. If I had known that this was how badly everything was set to turn out, I would’ve let the Fallen destroy me like they’d destroyed everyone else. At least then I would’ve died knowing that I had perished alongside the people I loved.

_Snap._

My eyes flew open, still wet with tears, and I glanced up from the sink, out into the restaurant’s back yard and into the darkness of the trees bordering the building. No… Surely not, not _now,_ not after everything that had happened, not after I had just incapacitated the only Food Soul I had left! I squinted through the thick glass of the window, my heart hammering wildly against my chest once again, but I didn’t have to look for long before I saw it.

There! Right in front of me, something _enormous_ was skulking between the trees, shifting from foot to foot maybe, though like all those nights ago with Pudding, it was far too dark to make out a clear shape. Was that a Fallen? I swallowed dryly, completely paralysed with fear, remembering how I had dismissed Pudding’s theory that something had taken to stalking the restaurant for the purpose of _studying_ me, but this was the second, perhaps the third time I had found myself the subject of a mysterious figure, lurking out of sight, masked by the dense trees.

But maybe… Just maybe it was the forth time?

Without thinking, I seized the back door key from the windowsill with a trembling hand, and before I could stop myself, I had jammed it into the lock and thrown myself out into the back yard. I could hear that snapping again, rapid and insistent, as if the person making it was moving backwards, keen to stay unseen, at least for now.

 _”OY!”_ I yelped at it, a horrible mixture of fear and anger fogging my brain. “What the Hell are you? Show your face! Show your face, now!”

A rustling came, before the unmistakeable sound of footsteps retreating echoed through the night air, growing fainter and fainter the further they moved. Undeterred and with a fresh surge of anger coursing through me, I hared after it, pushing bushes and low hanging branches out of my way, struggling to keep track of the noise. It was moving deeper and deeper into the woods, but I could still hear it!

I flung my arms out, my jaw clenched as I fought to keep going through the rapidly thickening woods, everywhere I turned there seemed to be something blocking my way, more brambles, stinging nettles, close-knit trees, how the hell had this _thing_ managed to get away from me so quickly?

I forced myself to keep going, my arms and face yet again littered with scratches and smudges of dirt. I could feel things snagging at my hair and my clothes, and at one point I had to pause to yank a clump of my hair free from where it had caught on a bush, looking around all the while, my breathing laboured. I couldn’t hear the footsteps anymore, but I could hear _something,_ a frenzied rustling, the sound of someone trying to hide themselves in the underbrush.

I gritted my teeth in frustration, shoving yet more tangled branches out of my way as I plunged deeper still into the trees, ears straining to hear even the tiniest whisper of movement apart from my own. I didn’t know if Pudding’s suspicions had been right, and for all I knew I could be chasing down a Fallen whilst unarmed and unprepared, but that didn’t do anything to stop the paranoia. 

My very first memories of my time in Gloriville had been fogged and marred because of the attack I had been subjected to. Whatever or whoever had tried to kill me had either done so on instinct, or to ensure that I wouldn’t even make it into the City. The latter option was the more fantastical one – obviously – but since then, something always seemed to be following me around every time I’d found myself in a forest. Was it the same thing I’d heard running behind me earlier today? Had I just been imagining it? Maybe this was all just a result of the stress of losing the restaurant.

But I’d _definitely_ seen something in these woods tonight, and God damnit I was going to find it.

With a sharp release of breath, I half jumped, half fell down into a clearing, the trees looming above me illuminated only by the light of the moon, rising in a steadily darkening sky. Out of breath and shivering, I looked around wildly, uncomfortably aware of how exposed I was, if whatever I’d been chasing was still lurking in the trees, they now had an incredibly clear view of me, whereas I couldn’t see much through the dark tree trunks at all.

As the seconds slunk by, I continued to scan my surroundings, urging my eyes to grow used to the gloom, God if only I’d brought my torch… Some Fallen were like animals, right? Perhaps if I had the means to shine a light into its eyes, I could get it to scarper, but from the sound of its footsteps and the silhouette it had made back at the restaurant, it was far more humanoid than all the other Fallen I’d seen before.

Then, somewhere to my right, I heard a rustle and I whipped around in a panic, struggling to make out anything through the dense trees, a pair of eyes, a hulking shadow, anything… I stood, rooted to the spot, suddenly assaulted with the conclusion that following this _thing_ into the trees had been a truly fucking _stupid_ idea, this was probably what it had wanted me to do, damnit!

Another rustle, and a snap soon echoed throughout the clearing, directly behind me this time. I turned sharply on my heel to face the noise, realising with a thrill of horror that there was something enormous crashing its way through the trees towards me. I backed away hurriedly, my breathing quickening in my chest, until my heel met something solid, and I fell backwards with a yelp and a crunch of dry leaves.

Suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu, I struggled to sit up, alight with fear, but determined to at least see my attacker this time before they had a chance to strike, before they had a chance to cut me open again.

“Miss Nonna…?”

Now I could see a light in the distance, bobbing its way through the trees, peering into the clearing before tentatively making its way down to where I was lying. I stared up at it, a little lost for words, caught in between confusion and relief.

“B-52? What are. What are you doing out here?”

The mechanical Food Soul came to a halt before me, his one working eye narrowed and his brow furrowed with obvious puzzlement, he didn’t answer immediately and instead chose to cast his gaze around the clearing, scanning the trees as I had done.

“I heard you crying in the kitchen,” he said, finally turning his head back to me, yet again with that musical clicking of metal, “so I went to assist you, but you weren’t there when I arrived. Then I realised that you had given chase into the forest, and thought it best to follow you. Your target was far bigger than you, there was a high chance that you would’ve sustained injury.”

“Y-Yeah… It sounded bigger than me alright,” I said glumly, hesitating for a moment before getting to my feet, but I soon found myself struck with a question, “w-wait. Wait, B-52, did you see what the target was? You said it was big, but is that all? Was it a Fallen?”

There was a pause, and I watched with baited breath as B-52 slowly raised his head, his glowing eye aimed straight ahead, that whirring starting up again to the point where it filled the whole clearing with a low, continuous hum.

“My apologies. My scanners are still not functioning correctly,” he replied at long last, turning his face back to me, “I am currently not able to identify your target.”

Grim-faced at this news, I turned to look behind me, as if just by willing it, I could make the stranger appear before me and finally find some closure, at least for _something._

“Your… Scanners were why you tried to go for me earlier as well, weren’t they?” I asked shakily, chancing a worried glance up at him, trying to meet his eyes. “Did they read me as a turned human again?”

B-52 gazed back at me, almost woefully, and soon enough silence fell between us once again, until the sound of a cricket chirping faintly nearby seemed to bring him out of his reverie.

“I am sorry.” He said and I was surprised to hear how glum he sounded, I really hadn’t heard him speak that much since meeting him, everything he had ever said to me had been either meticulously composed or gargled with anger. This was new, or so I hoped. “The majority of the problem is coming from my left eye, the one that was damaged. The eye is no longer there, but its scanner is, its constant feed of information is often incorrect. I really must apologise profusely for my continued failure.”

“No, B, listen,” I piped up, uncomfortably aware of a lump beginning to grow in my throat, “if anyone is sorry it should be me. I shouldn’t have _forced_ you to stop like that, Spaghe… _He_ actually told me that you knew nothing but following instructions, and I took completely advantage of that, I’m sorry. I hope I… No, no, I _promise_ not to do it again.”

B-52’s head had tilted again, like he always did when he was confused about something, but this time it felt a little different. It may have been my imagination, but I could see _something_ in his face that hadn’t been there before, as if he himself had decided to look quizzical, rather than his programming instructing him to.

“Nobody has apologised for giving me an order before,” he remarked, and even his voice carried a far more genuine note of curiosity than it normally did, “Master Spaghetti was quite right in saying that following orders is what I am designed to do. Miss Nonna, I left you with no choice, I should tell you that I was aiming to kill before you ordered me to stop, I understand why you gave that order.”

“I’m sure I… I’m sure I could’ve found a way to get away from you without doing that,” I huffed, though I sincerely doubted it, “regardless, I shouldn’t have done it. B-Besides, B, you said you’re designed to follow orders, but… I told you to stop, yet here you are, you followed me out into the woods, didn’t you? I didn’t tell you to do that, o-or the time you left the stockroom; that was something you decided to do on your own too. Remember?”

It was as if my words had triggered something within him, a sudden change that even he wasn’t prepared for, in a matter of seconds, his face had snapped through several, almost comical emotions. A deep frown, an expression of deepest concern, and then an oddly dazed, far-away look, as if he were transfixed with something I couldn’t see. I waited with baited breath for him to speak again, but he didn’t, and eventually I decided to gently prompt him.

“Look, B… I really don’t want to sound like I don’t want you around, but… You can’t keep mistaking me for a turned human. I mean, look at you, you’re so much bigger than me, and things are pretty bad for me right now, but I can honestly say that I want to, you know… Stay alive.”

“Of course.” B-52 replied jerkily, as if trying to knock himself back to reality. “I will have to find a way to stop future malfunctions. Though I’m unsure as to a solution, may I ask for your assistance?” 

“’Course, of course,” I nodded sincerely, eager to finally make some progress with him, “I think we both just need to sit back and go over our options. You’re not contracted to me, and while I’m not _bad_ with fixing things, I’ve… Never seen anyone quite like you before. But if there’s one thing I can totally reassure you of, it’s that I’m definitely human, okay? _Definitely…_ human.”

The mechanical Food Soul stood solemnly before me, that single eye continuing to glow in the darkness until he lowered his head, then his shoulders, then his chest until he had almost flopped over completely, that hiss of released steam once again making itself heard.

“I… Want to be human.” He muttered, staring down at his feet.

The sight very nearly broke my heart.

In that moment, I found myself wrestling with my better judgement, but there was something within me that had been awakened, a deep, terrible sadness and a _yearning_ to talk with him, to confide in him almost… But I couldn’t afford to take that risk, no matter how sorry I felt for him, or how desperately I wanted to help him.

“We should get back.” I mumbled, forcing myself to sound calm. “It’s not safe out here. I don’t know how much longer I’ll have in the restaurant, but it’s better than wandering around out here. Come on, B…”

-

The restaurant was dark, cold and eerily silent, even with the weak light of the torch I’d managed to retrieve from under my bed, it didn’t make the place seem any less hostile. Just seeing it in this state was enough to bring me to the brink of tears again, though I hadn’t been here long, Pudding, Tempura and I had still managed to breathe life into the place. We’d had customers, an atmosphere, despite the unfamiliarity of it all, I really had found myself beginning to imagine myself making a new life here. It would never be my home, not truly, but it would’ve been as good as, and now that chance to start again had been snatched away from me.

No, it hadn’t been snatched – I realised – I had been stupid enough to put myself in the firing line, and now I was paying dearly for it.

But there was hope, albeit a tiny glimmer of it, I realised, as I now watched B-52 struggling into a chair in the dining room, his chin resting heavily in an open palm. With any luck, the strange epiphany he seemed to have had in the forest would be enough for him to rebel against Spaghetti when the latter inevitably came back for him. Maybe, just maybe my influence had done some good, I could find comfort in that, if I had made at least some change to someone’s life, I felt that I could live with that, something to balance out the guilt and the shame festering away inside my chest.

“Where will you go, Miss Nonna?” B-52 asked me as I joined him, and I was a little discouraged to hear that that _rehearsed_ quality had come back into his voice.

“God knows,” I grumbled, dropping into my chair with a sharp outtake of breath, “I don’t even know how long I’ll be here before I have to go. There’s no sign of Olivia, I guess I just have to wait until she gets here, I wish she’d hurry up, I’d rather get this damned thing over with rather than sitting around, contemplating my end. Ugh, _damn_ Spaghetti, yobany _urod.”_

“Ahah… Hah...” 

I glanced up, startled, for the noise that had come from B-52 was quite unlike anything I’d ever heard him make, and it took me a while to realise that he was _laughing._ It was a grating, jerky kind of sound, but it was definitely a laugh.

“Umn… What?” I asked, more than a little taken aback.

“Your accent is… funny.” He replied tentatively, a wide and almost genuine smile stretching the synthetic skin of his face. “I met a Food Soul who spoke like you once… I cannot recall her name.”

I sat there, a little stunned, watching as the smile gradually faded from B-52’s face, replaced yet again by that passive, oddly emotionless look that often decorated his face. For a brief and quite terrifying second, he really had reminded me of…

**Tap! Tap! Tap!**

I jerked in my seat with a yelp, so lost in my own thoughts that everything else around me had become quite insignificant. Suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of dread, I turned towards the door, where outside I could clearly see someone waiting, hand poised to knock again.

“That doesn’t look like Madam Olivia.” B-52 said quietly beside me, and as I turned to look at him, I realised that he was on high alert. His eyes wide, his shoulders squared, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see electricity crackling off of him. What had gotten him so riled up was completely beyond me, but whoever was at the door didn’t seem keen to wait, as another series of sharp knocks soon echoed throughout the room.

“Alright! Alright!” I called, getting up from my seat, making my way towards the door, feeling rather unpleasantly like I was walking through water. God, this was it, wasn’t it? This was… 

That really _didn’t_ look like Olivia, or anyone I’d seen before.

Shaking slightly, I reached out a tremulous hand, undoing the metal bolts on the door one by one, until I was finally able to swing it open, finally locking eyes with the person who had knocked.

“Can I… Help you?” I asked tentatively.

“Oh, I certainly hope you can, Miss.”

The man in the doorway was quite unlike anyone I had ever seen before, and I had seen some odd people in my lifetime. He was tall, slim and he held himself with an air of confidence that I had only ever seen in dignitaries or even royalty. He was clad in a high-collared, beige robe and an odd, waistcoat-like garment trimmed with fur that he wore wrapped about him, but the one thing that stood out to me the most were his eyes, and the way they glinted like gold in the light of the streetlamps above him. 

“May I come in?” He prompted gently; twisting his fingers through the thin and elaborate plait he wore his dark hair in, around and around his hand it went, out of habit, I deduced. “It’s frightfully cold outside, and I am pleased to tell you that I have some rather good news for you.”

“I ah… Sure…” I replied hesitantly, stepping aside and allowing him to sweep his way into the restaurant, nodding with thanks as he did so. “I’m… I’m really sorry, but… Who are you?”

“Aha, my deepest apologies, I understand that my presence is both unexpected and a little alarming, no?” He laughed, seating himself at the very first table beside the door, gesturing to me that I should do the same. “Please sit, Miss, I will do my best to keep this brief, given the hour of the day.”

Utterly bewildered, I looked desperately over his head and towards B-52 for help, but the latter appeared just as confused as I did, in fact it didn’t look like he’d moved an inch since I’d answered the door. Slowly, I crept into the offered chair, my shoulders hunched and my jaw set, this man had a kindly face, kindly eyes and a kindly smile… But there was still something about him that seemed off, he just seemed far, far too relaxed given the desolate place he had just walked into.

Unfortunately, he had no trouble reading into my body language at all.

“Come now, relax, I am not here to hurt you,” he laughed, “my name is Peking Duck, I am a good friend of Yuxiang, who I know you are familiar with.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah I know Yuxiang.” I muttered, still very reluctant to drop my shoulders, worried that perhaps he would spring across the table at me. “Why are you here? Did Olivia send you?”

“Aha! Gods no,” Peking Duck laughed, and the sound rung unpleasantly in my ears, “though she knows I am here, she is actually rather put out about it, this is all terribly awkward for her. You see, I am here to tell you that you do not have to leave your restaurant, Miss, nor do you need to give up your position as a Cooking Attendant! Here…”

Completely perplexed, I watched as he reached into the folds of his robes and produced a letter, which he then slid across the table towards me with long, tapered fingers.

“That there is a letter of most _sincere_ apology from a Food Soul who I believe you had quite the conflict with.” He said, sitting back in his chair and watching happily as I reached for the letter. “As well as a retraction of his orders to have you evicted from the restaurant. You’ll have to forgive him, he can be quite rash when he wants to be.”

“This is from _Spaghetti?”_ I croaked out, my throat was dry, but my chest was lighter than it had felt in _days._

“That’s right! He really did sound very apologetic about this unpleasant business when I spoke to him,” Peking sighed, raising his golden eyes to the ceiling with a click of his tongue, “but that shouldn’t matter now. I am pleased to say that you are in the clear, Miss _Attendant,_ Olivia would’ve come to deliver the news to you in person, but she really is terribly busy at the moment, what with the Fallen acting the way they are.”

“I don’t… I-I don’t know what to say,” I said, looking back up at him, happy tears slowly but surely welling up in my eyes, “I was… I w-was sure I was going to have to leave. Did… Did you talk to Spaghetti, then? Are you a friend of his? Is that how you got him to see sense?”

“All of that doesn’t matter now,” Peking replied, waving a hand through the air, “all you need to worry about is getting yourself back onto the straight and narrow, Miss Attendant. But I can assure you that Spaghetti will not be bothering you, _or_ B-52 Cocktail again.”

I was overwhelmed, I didn’t know what else to say, or think, or feel besides _relief,_ a great, swelling feeling of relief that filled me up right from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. I was so enamoured with the sensation, that I barely noticed Peking getting to his feet, or the way he suddenly produced a tobacco pipe from nowhere.

“Well now, I believe that is all I have time for,” he said jovially, resting a hand on my shoulder as he passed me, “I hope to see you again soon, Miss Attendant. Olivia mentioned that you may require some help, given that your Food Souls are currently out of action, so I have offered up my services to you as a temporary measure. I am sure that you will be able to summon them again in due time, but for now, allow me to be of assistance.” 

Still lost for words, I turned around in my chair to watch him go, my jaw slack and my hands clutched around the letter he had given me, so tightly that I felt my nails puncturing the paper.

“Thank you…!” I blurted out, suddenly aware of how squeaky my voice had become. “Thank you, Peking Duck. Thank you _so_ much, h-how can I repay you? There must be something I can do, I can…”

“We’ll worry about all of that later,” Peking laughed, turning to look at me once last time, his hand on the door and his other still clasped around his tobacco pipe, “but for now, get some sleep, Miss Attendant, you look dead on your feet. I shall see you again soon.”

With that, he left, as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving only the faintest waft of tobacco behind.

I sat there, breathing hard, my heart thrumming frantically in my chest. So intense were the emotions coursing through me, I barely noticed as the restaurant’s lights suddenly flickered back into life, one by one above my head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE DUCK IS HERE. REJOICE.
> 
> Also this bitch is 25 pages long in Word, so congratulations to anyone who actually reads all of this, y'all are the real MPV.  
> BUT THIS IS one of the more pivotal moments of the story, so I'm gonna comfort myself with that. I'll try N O T to make the chapters this long all the time, don't worry, guys. 
> 
> AND HALLELUJAH, Nonna manages to escape the deadly jaws of consequence yet again. Maybe this time she'll think about sticking to the rules.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

“Do you suppose this will work? I think it’s worth a try.”

It was early in the morning, early enough for most of the ground to still glimmer with a frost not yet burnt away by the sun, but fortunately B-52 and I had woken up to a thoroughly heated restaurant this time. There was still no sign of Olivia, so after finally being able to take a shower, I decided to pass the time by approaching the cyborg with a solution to the problems his malfunctioning scanner was causing us.

“It isn’t exactly the latest and greatest invention,” I said apologetically, “but… If we cover up your damaged eye with this, then your scanner won’t be able to _scan_ anything! Right?”

The _solution_ came in the form of a long strip of thick material, found in one of the cupboards in my room. There was an entire stash of fabric in there, piled on top of each other in big stacks, and in the corner I’d found a broken down old sewing box to go along with it all. Perhaps whoever had worked in this restaurant before had been a seamstress. 

“Affirmative.” B-52 replied, eyeing the fabric I held closely, leaning forwards in his seat with a creaking of metal. “That will serve as a temporary fix until my eye is properly repaired.”

“Don’t suppose you can think of a permanent solution?” I asked grumpily, standing behind him so as to gently tie the fabric about his head, making sure not to inhibit the vision of his working eye. “Apart from you being repaired… I will _try_ to fix you, I promise I will, but I also have to tell you that I’m not an experienced mechanic by any means.”

B-52 turned to look up at me from where he sat, a distant, far-away look coming into his eye as he thought, and once again I found myself struck with that strange feeling that had filled my chest the other night. He really did look far too familiar to me for his own good; I’d have to be very, very careful.

“The only other option that comes to mind is the contract.” He said simply. “A contract binding a Food Soul and their Attendant together.”

“I thought you had to summon a Food Soul in order to make a contract with them?” I asked, moving way from him to sit down on my usual crate, grabbing the long-abandoned radio from the floor and beginning to fiddle with it again. 

“Not necessarily.” He replied. “A contract can be signed with any Food Soul, provided there is the correct amount of soul embers, and a caster there to draw it up. Is there such a person here?”

“I think so,” I muttered, an image of the wizened, bad-tempered Mister Pan coming to mind, “but I don’t have any soul embers, not yet anyway.”

“If this… _Method,”_ B-52 said after a small, hesitant pause, “does not yield satisfactory results, then the contract is a failsafe option.”

“But that would be like tying your hands, B,” I pointed out, frowning as finally I managed to produce some noise from the radio, albeit a garbled, distorted wailing of static, “I don’t want to _force_ you into signing a contract with me, it’ll limit your freedom.”

“You wish me to have the freedom to attack you?” B-52 asked, and I could’ve sworn I saw a glimmer of amusement in his eye. I glared at him playfully, twiddling and jamming various buttons and knobs on the radio in some attempt to get it to tune, or produce some noise other than the crackling I’d managed to generate from it.

“In a weird way, yes,” I replied, “I just don’t want you to be in a position where you can’t speak your mind if I do something you don’t like. I’m sure you had enough of that with Spaghetti, right?”

“The contract does not prohibit opinion,” he assured me, and he fixed me suddenly with a one-eyed stare that had me frozen in my chair, “Miss Nonna. If it means that I am no longer able to attack you, I would _very much_ appreciate it if you and I both signed a contract. I have no objection whatsoever.”

A silence fell between us, one so complete that if I had listened closely enough, I probably could’ve heard the cogs whirring way inside my brain, trying to decide how to respond to that. In the end, I gave a small laugh, and nodded enthusiastically.

“There you go! See, that’s what I was talking about yesterday,” I chirped, “that… Little spark you get sometimes, that drive to make your own decisions and to _communicate_ with others. That’s… Keep doing that, okay? Oh, uh, and if you want a contract, I can get someone to draw it up for us, but I still need the soul embers, which is going to take a while, so prepare yourself for a long wait, okay?”

“Affirmative.”

At that moment, a burst of music suddenly sounded, filling the silent room for a fraction of a second before it faded again, melting back into that horrid, grating static. 

“Oh, come on…” I grumbled, shaking the radio in my hands. “I’ve fixed this damn thing, I _almost_ had it. I just want some _music_ in here, blin.”

But before I could make another move to try tuning it again, there came a rapid and sharp series of knocking at the door and the sudden, swooping feeling of apprehension in my stomach that came with it.  
Carrying the still sputtering radio under my arm, I made my tentative way out into the dining room and up to the front door, through which I could make out the figure of a man, standing straight backed and tight-jawed. I grumbled to myself lightly as I opened the door for him, that uptight posture could only mean one thing.

“Good morning, Miss Attendant!” He barked as soon as I was within earshot. “I am here on behalf of Madam Olivia to present you with your compensation.”

“Still busy, is she?” I asked dully, as a behemoth of paper was shoved into my arms, causing me to almost drop the radio. “Ek, this doesn’t look like ‘compensation’ to me, it looks like a load of forms.”

“You are required to re-read, and re-sign everything Madam Olivia presented you with on your first day in the Guild.” He replied crisply, holding up a fat, fabric sack. _”This_ is your compensation.”

I stared at the sack, slack-jawed, needing a moment or two to realise what I was looking at.

“A-Are those… Soul embers!”

“Enough for you to re-summon your previous Food Souls.”

“My God, you’re a lifesaver!” I crowed, holding out my arms so that he could deposit the sack atop the small mountain of paper he’d already given me. “Um, listen. If you see Olivia, say thank you for me… I know I’ve caused her a lot of trouble, and…”

But before I could finish my sentence, the man had drawn back, nodded his head once and marched off down the street without so much as a glance back in my direction.

Wondering if perhaps Olivia had accidentally sent a robot to do her bidding, I struggled my way back inside, so focused on not dropping anything that I didn’t immediately notice the small card dangling from the sack of soul embers. Frowning, I set down the papers and the radio with a dull _thud_ and finally tugged it loose from the sack; on it, I could now look at it properly.

The card was mint green, and patterned handsomely with a circle of white paisley clustered together in the middle, atop which was printed a tiny black fork. Trying my hardest not to snort, I turned it over out of curiosity, and found to my surprise that something had been written in black ink on the other side, in tiny, looped handwriting, I read.

_“Attendant Noyabrina,_

_The Nevras Royal Council cordially invites you to dinner and a formal ball to celebrate the impending New Year. This is a traditional, annual affair, therefore we expect punctuality and strictly proper dress on your part._

_Saturday the eighteenth of November. Dinner will be at 7:00 pm, dancing is permitted between the hours of 9:00 pm and 11:30 pm._

_Please contact staff at the Royal Nevras estate for more information._

_We hope to see you there._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Spaghetti, head of the Nevras Royal Council.”_

Thoroughly confused and more than a little scared, I turned the invitation over in my hands as if trying to spot a watermark of some kind, or a hidden message in the writing. It really did seem incredibly _fishy_ for a man who had almost ended my business merely a _day_ ago, to suddenly invite me to what was no doubt his place of residence for a ball of all things. Surely there had to be a nasty ulterior motive carefully concealed somewhere in all of this, but at that moment, the image of Peking Duck’s kindly, yet carefully composed smile swam hazily before my eyes. Now that I stopped to think about it a little more rationally, that smile had no doubt swayed and persuaded countless minds and hearts throughout the years, was it really so far-fetched to assume that Peking was also behind this neat little invitation? I hadn’t believed a word of the apology Spaghetti had supposedly written for me, after all.

There truly was enough mystery surrounding the card to keep me thinking about it all day, had it not been for the almighty ruckus that suddenly sounded outside my front door.

“Nonna? Oy! Nonnaaaaa! Are you still here?”

Suddenly filled with a bubbling feeling of delight, I set the invitation aside and stood up to open the door once again, but this time, my visitor was met with far more enthusiasm than Olivia’s messenger had been.

“Morag!” I cried, as I was immediately set upon by the taller woman and pulled into a bone-crushing hug. “Brownie too! I thought you two were busy with your restaurant!”

“We were! We were, but a couple of things brought us back down here.” Morag laughed, pulling away from me to allow Brownie to step forward, though he opted for the far more reserved greeting in the form of a handshake. “Number one, we heard that you got kicked out, but obviously that weren’t true at all. Number two, there’s a great, stonking farmer’s market up in Nevras for the next few days, and number three…”

“Master Attendant realised that she had recovered something belonging to the Food Soul we rescued,” Brownie finished for her, a smile warming his face as he held out the item to me, “here you are. I hope that this will make him feel better. He was very blue the last time I saw him.”

Almost immediately and with an anxious little jolt, I recognised the long, metal tube Brownie held in his hands, it was the cane B-52 had lost in the catacombs, the same cane that I’d seen produce plumes of very real, very _hot_ fire. Gingerly, I reached out to take it from him, a very forced smile spreading uncomfortably across my face, and I held it out before me as if it would bite me if I brought it too close to my face.

“Um. Thanks, Brownie! Gosh… He’ll be thrilled, I’ll… I’ll make sure to give it to…”

“That is mine.”

I almost jumped out of my skin as that unmistakeable voice suddenly sounded from above my head, and I spun around just in time to feel the cold metal of B-52’s hand brush my own as he finally took back his weapon. I shuddered a little, once again completely overcome with the temptation to seize that hand and just _look at him,_ oh, if only there were a way to ask him how he worked without sounding rude.

_And_ to ask him how the hell a man his size had managed to creep his way out of the stockroom and across to the front door without me hearing him. Again. 

“Do me a favour, B,” I said somewhat exasperatedly, turning to face the huge cyborg, “don’t use that thing in here…”

He regarded me for a moment, almost reproachfully, and even I could see that my request wasn’t sitting well with him, he had told me how much his skills meant to him after all. Nevertheless, and to my great relief, he soon nodded and moved to slip the cane into the back pocket of his trousers, though his hand still twitched as if he were just _dying_ to use it again. 

Then, all of a sudden he spoke, in a voice warmed with an affection and a gratitude that I hadn’t heard before.

“Thank you, Miss Attendant, and thank you, Brownie, for returning my weapon to me. Brownie, I hope to perhaps fight alongside you one day, I greatly admire the resolve you showed in the catacombs.”

For a moment, I had to fight back a laugh, for the look of utter astonishment on Brownie’s face was easily the funniest thing I’d seen in a while. For a few seconds, all he could do was splutter, his shoulders squared and tensed, before a smile split his face, and he began nodding enthusiastically.

“Golly, I hope so too!” He gabbled. “I assure you that I am not normally so easily taken down. That Fallen truly was a beast, it wasn’t my best performance in battle by any stretch.”

“Nor mine.” B-52 replied, once again with that polite little nod.

Morag, who had been grinning alongside Brownie the whole time, now gave a loud sigh and placed her arm around the still buzzing Magic Soul.

“Alright, you two lovebirds, I’m afraid Brownie and I have to get going. All that cheap food in Nevras isn’t gonna buy itself. Say, Nonna, do you want to come with us? You’ve got to get yourself back on your feet, after all.”

“I would, Morag, honestly I would… But while I _am_ trying to get myself back on my feet, I need my Food Souls to do that,” I replied, turning to gesture limply at the sack of soul embers sitting, waiting on the table, “I really should hurry up and summon them again before anything else.”

For a moment, I hesitated; as the little card sitting on the table behind me caught my eye once again, pale against the dark wood. I really did need to ask someone for a second opinion about this, but somehow I knew that now was the absolute wrong time to bring something like that up. However, I was spared dedicating another thought to it, as Morag sighed and shook her head morosely. 

“Aye, of course. The Guild’s ever so harsh with that, gotta say though, I’d look into it if I were you, Nonna. Normally they’re required to give you a month’s notice before terminating contacts and such like. I don’t know of any reason why they’d do that in such a rush.”

“Oh, I think I know why.” I said a little bitterly, remembering in vivid detail, Spaghetti screaming threats at me from the cobbled street. “I’ve been compensated, but the Guild haven’t exactly been apologetic about it. I haven’t even _seen_ Olivia since this all happened.”

“Tell you what, pet, we need a proper catch up when you get yourself sorted out.” Morag replied, adjusting her rucksack as she turned to go. “I’m sorry I’m coming and going so quickly, but you fight your corner on this, won’t you? Because it sounds to me like they did you dirty. C’mon, Brownie! Nevras is calling.”

Waving and smiling, the two departed, though I noticed that Brownie lingered a little as he left, still beaming from ear to ear at B-52’s praise. I felt a small smile of my own twitching at my lips, and I couldn’t help wondering if B-52 knew just how much the small Soul seemed to admire him, or how that would make him feel. As I turned to face the cyborg, I gave a little start as I realised that he’d made his slow and deliberate way back into the restaurant, to the table upon which my compensation sat. With a thrill of foreboding, I realised just in time that he’d made a move to reach out for the invitation I’d left lying on the table.

“U-Um, B-52!” I called sharply, and winced as he immediately looked around, his hand snapping back to his side with a scraping of metal. “S-Sorry, sorry. Uh, listen, I need to go and summon Tempura and Pudding again, sooner rather than later. I don’t have any customers and I’m not exactly in a fit state to serve them either, so… Would you like to come with me?”

B-52 stared at me for a moment, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side, that familiar whirring yet again starting up in his chest.

“Do you wish for me to accompany you?” He asked, crisp and rehearsed as always.

“I…” I began, fully prepared to say yes, before an idea sparked in my head, and when I spoke again, my voice rang with a note of one choosing her words carefully, “no, wait, that doesn’t matter, okay? I want _you_ to decide whether or not you want to come with me.”

Despite the rather mundane request, for a moment, I was afraid that I’d asked too much of him, for almost immediately that continuous hum grew louder and louder until yet again it seemed to fill the room. B-52 stood stock still for a moment, his working eye fixed upon me, but it looked distant and misted over now, as though he was staring at something beyond my sight. His lips pursed slightly, and I could’ve sworn I saw a twitch of his hand as he fought to curl it into a fist… But then, as if nothing had happened, he let loose a long, slow breath and finally replied.

“I believe accompanying you would benefit us both.” He stated, blinking slowly, and I was pleased to see that he appeared to be considering his words. “Yes, Miss Nonna, I will come with you.”

-

Like always, Mister Pan was sullen-faced and annoyed when I arrived, at least he was until he saw B-52.

“Back again, Miss Beriyeva?” He sighed as we entered, not once bothering to look up from the papers he was signing. “Although – like always – you have arrived without informing me first, Madam Olivia has very kindly notified me of your situation, and has granted you permission to sign two contracts here t… I…”

He faltered, his eyes finally raised to us, though he apparently had no time to spare for me, as he raised a quivering hand, pointing towards the hulking figure of B-52, who had ducked in through the shop door with some difficulty.

“What in the name of the _Gods_ do you have there?” He cried, a horrid scraping of wood on wood sounding throughout the room as he shoved his chair back from his desk. “You there! Stay where you are.”

I turned to look up at B-52, who understandably looked very confused, but it was clear that Pan’s harshly delivered command had done its job, as he didn’t move a muscle. Grim-faced, I gingerly put a hand out to pat his shoulder – or at least – pat the closest area I could get to his shoulder, the difference between us in height really was utterly ridiculous.

“Best to stay back, B. I’ll try not to take too long, okay?”

“Affirmative.”

Without further ado, I stepped towards the still shaking Pan, and deposited the sack of soul embers on his desk. Thankfully, at the sight of them he seemed to regain some nerve, and was soon rummaging around in his desk for two, fresh contracts, though he still had to pause to mop his brow every once in a while.

“Never… In all my career,” he kept muttering, bringing out the papers, and handing me the pen with which to sign them both, “never… A Food Soul such as this. How on _Tierra_ would you summon him? He wouldn’t fit through the portal…”

It was actually quite hard not to start laughing, but Pan’s mumbling had sparked off a few questions in my own head. The events of the last few days had been so stressful, that I hadn’t really had the time to sit down and think about all the different Food Souls I had met during my misadventures. Before the catacombs, I’d automatically assumed that all Souls were contracted to _someone,_ and that they were all drawn from the portal like Pudding and Tempura had been. But of course, since then I had met B-52, Spaghetti, and Peking Duck, all of whom didn’t seem to be contracted to anyone, and hadn’t Spaghetti mentioned something about B-52 being in his employment? How exactly did this system work, and more to the point, Pan was quite right, how _would_ someone go about summoning a Food Soul like B-52? 

I thought back briefly to the ride back to Gloriville from the Nevras catacombs, throughout which I had marvelled at how expertly B-52 had been crafted, how everything down to the last detail was a true masterpiece, a beautiful display of expertise and engineering. Or was it? Had someone purposefully made him –making him one of a kind – or were there other Food Souls like him out there somewhere?

In the midst of my thoughts, I heard Pan clear his throat rather rudely, and suddenly realised that he’d stood up, waiting for me to follow him through to where the portal was no doubt waiting.  
After a brief, reassuring glance back at B-52, I allowed Pan to lead the way, soul embers in hand, a warm feeling of excitement slowly but surely filling my stomach. It would be wonderful to see Tempura and Pudding again, I really had missed them far, far more than I could’ve ever anticipated.

“A Defence Soul and a Magic Soul again?” Pan was asking me, as he deposited the first one hundred and fifty embers. 

“Yes, please,” I nodded, “they’ll be the same Souls as last time, right? You can decide which ones I get, can’t you?”

“That I can, and I have no doubt that Tempura will appear once he realises it is you who has summoned him,” Pan sniffed, stepping back from the portal, a sudden, serious look falling over his face, “but I am afraid that you will have to summon another Magic Soul from the portal this time. Pudding has already been summoned by another Cooking Attendant, making a contract with him again is now impossible.”

“W-What?” I faltered, turning sharply to look at him, almost physically sagging as the excitement suddenly died, draining out of me as if I were a balloon that had suffered a puncture. “He’s been summoned by someone else? But… But Pudding was my first Food Soul!”

“He is also a very popular choice for small businesses,” Pan replied, a bite of impatience in his voice, “and you cannot _reserve_ a Food Soul. Perhaps, if you had wanted to keep your contract with him, you should have endeavoured to _toe the line.”_

I glared at him and took a step towards him, my fists clenched. “Listen here, don’t pin this on me! I was threatened! And I know my rights, okay? I should’ve been given a month’s notice before Olivia terminated my contracts! So don’t you _dare…”_

“Miss Beriyeva, I will have to remove you from my shop if you continue to shout at me.” Pan said icily, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. “You may summon another Magic Soul if you so desire, or none at all.”

I stood, fuming, so angry that I could hardly speak, it mingled unpleasantly with the guilt and the sadness in my stomach, all crammed in tightly like a tin of sardines. This was so, so unfair, I’d been fully prepared to put all of this behind me and move on, so long as I could get Pudding and Tempura back, but of course, I should’ve known that it would never have been this simple. But, it truly was hard to realise that my chances of seeing Pudding again were now incredibly slim. It was odd, just how sad that made me feel, considering how poorly we’d acted towards each other when I’d first summoned him, but now it was as if he were a part of me, a part that was incredibly hard to leave behind.

“… You know what?” I asked, a sudden thought coming to my mind. “Let me summon Tempura again, but… Can I use the other soul embers for something else? That Food Soul out there, I’d like to make a contract with him instead.”

To my great pleasure, Pan looked positively gobsmacked, and he spluttered for a moment or two before sighing deeply, shaking his head so hard that his spectacles almost flew off of his face.

“Very well. On your own head be it.” He muttered, turning to fiddle with a few of the portal’s controls. “I have never seen a Food Soul such as him before, who knows how he’ll behave towards you, even with the contract, he looks positively savage to me. Now then, I’ve set the portal up, you know what to do by now, Miss Beriyeva, so kindly hurry along and do it.”

“Right. Oh, and um… Don’t worry about him,” I said, moving over to take hold of the lever once again, “he’s already tried to kill me twice. But I’m pretty sure the contract will solve that.”

_”What!?”_

But the rest of Pan’s rant was soon drowned out by the screeching, wailing noise of the portal as it roared into life, once more filling the room with that blinding light. But it was well worth it, as by the end of it, I found myself almost thrown across the room as Tempura came barrelling out of the spinning circle, his great arms wrapped around me tightly.

**“Attendant!”** He boomed happily, picking me up and spinning me around the room, the pair of us ignoring the way Pan yelped and scrambled about in an attempt to get out of the way. “I didn’t think I’d be summoned by you ever again! What’s happened, huh? Did that Nevras guy try to hurt you again?”

“Never mind… N-Never mind about him,” I laughed, trying my best not to burst into tears, though my face crumpled and my throat ached with the effort, “God, Tempura, it’s so good to see you again! I can’t… Can’t tell you how strange things have been without you around.”

“Aw hey, hey.” He said, suddenly serious as he set me down, his amber eyes clouded with concern. “Don’t go crying on me, I won’t let you get picked on again, okay?”

Smiling through my tears, I sniffed greatly, doing my best to wipe my eyes on the sleeves of my uniform, nodding along with everything he said.

“Y-Yeah, yeah, okay. Pudding… Pudding isn’t coming back, but, I’m glad that I managed to summon you again, I don’t know what I would’ve done if…”

Quite suddenly, a sharp clatter sounded from outside the room, and the sound of hurried footsteps suddenly filled the air. Before I, Pan or Tempura could say another word, the door had flown open, and B-52 appeared, his jaw set and his working eye flashing.

“Miss Nonna, I must ask you to stay inside this room for your own safety.” He said sharply. “Outside, there is a…”

“Miserable heavens!” Pan suddenly cried out in anguish, and I turned just in time to see him clap his hands over his face, his eyes bulging out from between his fingers. Though confused at first, it didn’t take me long to realise what had riled both him and B up so much.

It was extremely faint at first, like a rumble of thunder, quiet enough for one to mistake it for a car engine revving, but after a while, the noise grew louder, fiercer, sharper, until the whole shop seemed to shake with it. Dust and bits of loosened plaster once again fell thick and fast from the ceiling above, and the foundations of the shop groaned in protest as the rumbling continued to grow in its intensity.

“Earthquake!” Pan moaned, sinking to his knees, his hands still over his head. “Gods, the shop… _The shop!”_

Beside me, I felt Tempura suddenly stiffen, and before either B-52 or I could stop him, he had marched towards the door, his massive fists clenched tightly at his sides.

“That’s no earthquake,” he grumbled as he pushed past the cyborg, “Gods above…”

“Miss Nonna.” B-52 said again, holding out his working arm to stop me as I made an attempt to follow Tempura. “I must ask you to stay in this…”

But he wasn’t quite quick enough, and in a flash, I had darted down underneath his arm and ran out to join Tempura, just in time to see him throw open the shop door.

What I saw outside almost made me run back into the portal room.

Flying, crawling, running past the shop door, there came hundreds upon hundreds of Fallen. All of them chattering and grumbling to each other, their eyes bright and fixed straight ahead, none of them even turning their heads to look inside the shop. The _noise_ that their collective weight generated was truly incredible, and after a while even I had to press my palms over my ears, my whole body alight with panic as I watched the never ending stream file past the door. What on earth was this? Where were they all going? I had never given much thought to just _how many_ Fallen there were in Gloriville, but it was positively horrifying to see now…

As they continued to thunder past, Tempura – apparently deciding that he’d seen enough – stepped back tentatively, closing the door behind him with a click, but even through the door, the rumbling and the constant chatter from the Fallen continued, on and on.

“What…” I began, but found that my throat was far too dry to talk for too long. “What’s… Happening?”

“They’re ah…” Tempura began, but even he seemed unsure, and he glanced towards me almost for help, his hands held out from his body as he fought to find a solution. “I mean, they’re… Gods above…”

“They are _gathering.”_ B-52 spoke solemnly from behind me, and I turned to look up at him, still breathless with fear. “This behaviour suggests that an _enhanced_ Fallen Angel is rapidly forming. Lesser, weaker Fallen such as them will flock to a more powerful ally, and look to it for instruction. This is a dangerous display, I would not advise us to move until we are absolutely sure that they have all passed.”

I looked away from him, my hands pulling and twisting at the hem of my uniform, so harshly that I felt the fabric fray beneath my fingers. I knew that I had to be careful, but the use of the term _’enhanced’_ had set off all sorts of alarm bells ringing in my head. Hadn’t Yuxiang told me of a Fallen just like the one B-52 had described just the day before last? Hadn’t Yuxiang warned me of the oncoming disaster set to hit Gloriville?

Was _this_ why I hadn’t received my month’s notice? Spaghetti’s influence may have played a part in it, but at the same time, I couldn’t help wandering if perhaps Olivia – like Yuxiang – had thought it best if I were out of Gloriville by the time this all started.

Weak kneed, I sank down to lean against Mister Pan’s desk, my knuckles white as they gripped the wood. Outside, the Fallen continued their stampede, on and on, on and on… _On and on…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See. This is why y'all gotta listen to Yuxiang, she knows her history.
> 
> JUST A NOTE, GUYS! I have started a full-time job recently, so my time is now pretty booked up with that. But have no fear! Currently I'm enjoying writing this so much that I doubt it'll take me much longer than usual to put out chapters. After all, we're into the real thick of the story now, I laid it all out for myself a few days ago, and I realised that we really are getting close to another big climax, so look out for that!
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Comments and kudos are always appreciated, but like always, none of you are obligated to do either of those things!


	17. (Break.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Interval 2._

Inside the cluttered living room, a sweet haze of smoke hovered in the air, fogging the windows, smothering the light that tried to creep in, making the whole place seem gloomier than it should’ve been. The room’s two occupants shared very different opinions about it all, the first was the cause of the smoke, produce from a long tobacco pipe he held elegantly in his hand, he at least seemed to be rather enjoying his surroundings. The second was his guest, and _his_ feelings on the state of the room were less than positive, judging by the way he kept wafting his hand through the air in an attempt to dispel the smoke.

“I am still deeply confused by your motives, as honourable as they are. Why do you care if she turns? Your business is elsewhere, I thought.” Came a gruff mumble from the guest, eyes narrowed, shoulders tensed.

“Well, my dear friend, I must say that your motives confuse me too.” The smoker’s voice sang out, playful and amused at the other’s annoyance. “You don’t normally dedicate so much of your time to something like this. Your style is fast and furious normally, sloppy – I’d call it – why only _now_ are you choosing to hang back and _observe?”_

“You… I _told you why.”_ Came the guest’s voice again, and a hand soon swished through the air once more, batting away at the smoke that encircled him, clogging his lungs and his brain, making him cough. “Khak! We’ve got an _Enhanced_ Fallen on our hands, I realised that a long time ago. I can’t deal with this like I would everything else, it’s far too late, that’s why I’m standing back, I’m trying to piece together another option. Trying to see things rationally, you know?”

“How cute. That’s quite unlike you,” laughed the smoker, a wicked smile curling his lips, “but if you really have been standing by this whole time, surely you should’ve caught on to the method in my madness by now?”

“I’m listening.”

“Come now, you’re a smart enough man, you should know me well enough to at least have a _guess_ at what I’m doing, I’ve done it for others before, after all.” Chirped the man with the pipe, taking a long, deep drag from it, white, sweet-smelling smoke pouring from his lips as he talked.

“I am offering a helping hand, in a humble attempt to placate the threat. You were there, you saw the state of it all, I think that we were just _hours_ away from seeing the whole of Gloriville descend into chaos the night I arrived. But now? Besides the stampede – of course – do you feel it in the air as much now? That… Dreadful _cold…”_

Silence fell, and with a harsh outtake of breath, the guest turned his head, dark eyes narrowed as they surveyed the weather outside. Had that sudden cold streak Gloriville had suffered recently really been the result of winter? Or had it been as his host had said? 

An Enhanced Fallen really did find solace in the cold, after all, it gave them the time to hibernate, to conserve their strength, ready for the day they burst into life, and reigned terror on everything that crossed their path.

“I guess I can see your point.” He finally answered gruffly, getting to his feet, exhaling deeply in some frugal attempt to expel the smoke from his lungs. “Look, if I stay in here any longer I’m going to be sick. I just came here to tell you to stay off of my turf, and that was all. Didn’t ask to get roped into talking with you for too long.”

“Funny, I was under the impression that I had _invited_ you here.”

“Shut it.” 

Sighing deeply in his throat, the guest shuffled ungracefully towards the door, but before he left, it seemed that he could not resist one, last passing comment.

“That stuff is bad for you, you know. It may smell like all the flowers that bloom in the Spring - _tra la_ \- but it’ll end up causing you some real misery one day.”

“I shall keep that in mind.” The host sighed, bringing the pipe back to his lips once again, almost to spite his uncomfortable guest. “Close the door behind you on your way out, won’t you? It’s _bitter_ out there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for being cryptic but, tbh I think quite a few people will be able to figure out a lot from this second interval hgufydgjh. 
> 
> But nevertheless, enjoy this second interval! Another breath of fresh air from the main story - or so I hope.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

As the year grew older and older still, winter began its slow, yet deliberate journey into the heart of Gloriville. Although – to me at least – it seemed to have lost its edge, that bite, those frozen jaws with which it had seized the City and shaken it to its roots. However, that didn’t stop snow from falling, which it did with an almost ferocious purpose one morning, much to my delight. 

Snow was what I’d been looking forward to; it was one of the few things that reminded me of home, I even found comfort in the cold. God knows I needed some home comforts, though I had slowly, painfully begun to ease my way into life in Gloriville, and I had snatched my restaurant back from the jaws of disaster, things were still difficult. Though I could cook well – sometimes – I had never set out to make it my career, and all too often I would find a customer calling me over, explaining to me – sometimes in English, sometimes not – that their baked potato wasn’t cooked enough, or their crispy pork wasn’t so crispy… They were nice about it most of the time, but on occasion it required the sight of B-52 glaring at them from the kitchen to finally get them to pipe down, and sink back into their chair, wide-eyed and quivering. 

In fact, so successful were these stare-downs, that even Tempura had to admit – although grudgingly – that the mechanical Food Soul was useful for getting unruly customers to calm down. 

But despite everything, the snow still fell, and it was truly magical to watch, a constant stream of white that complimented the dark, crooked buildings of Gloriville’s City centre, at least to me. Strangely enough, despite the chill, the presence of the snow made the whole place feel far, far cosier to me, and I had often found myself spending most of my free time sat by the shop windows, a mug of tea in my hands, watching the sun set on the horizon, and the comical sight of Tempura struggling to clear a path for himself through the dense, chilly mass on his way back from his “afternoon workout.” Why he needed one, I had no idea, the man was built like a brick shithouse. 

Even B-52’s usual, sullen, monotone mood had picked up a little at the weather, so much so that on several of those very snowy mornings, I had found him with his forehead pressed against the stockroom window, watching the comforting repetition of the snowflakes drifting past, one after the other with no signs of stopping. It was because of this charming reaction that as of late, I had found myself wondering just how much freedom he had been granted while still working for Spaghetti. I had neglected to ask the cyborg – of course – but the unmistakable contentment on his face at the sight of the snow, gave me the horrible feeling that he’d been limited – perhaps shut away completely – from experiencing the outside world. 

The very thought chilled me far deeper than the weather ever could.

But whatever the case, as the snow fell, covering the City in a soft, thick coat, I strictly forbade myself from bringing up anything about his life under the aristocratic Food Soul. It could come later, much later, when he was more comfortable around me, but for now, my first priority was to keep B-52’s spirits as high as I could, if anyone deserved the simple pleasures in life, it was him. I wanted him to keep on seeing those pleasures; he had the chance to now after all.

In amongst the odd, shared ease between myself and my Food Souls brought on by the festive weather, it soon became obvious to me that the only person very clearly _not_ enjoying the snow was Peking Duck, who – after hearing about my failure to re-summon Pudding – had started coming into the restaurant almost daily to help out with the business. On most days, in the small hours of the morning he would arrive, pale-faced and buttoned right up to his throat in what looked like every item of warm clothing he owned, a sour, almost hateful look in his red-rimmed eyes. However, no matter how _vicious_ he looked during those first few seconds after his arrival, it always melted away into nothing upon seeing me, and was replaced – every time without fail – by a kindly smile.  
Since learning about the incident at Mister Pan’s shop, Peking had kept himself glued firmly to my hip, and for whatever reason, he was now having considerable trouble in _un_ gluing himself. However, it was comforting to me in a strange, slightly concerning way, how he had grown so attached to me in such a short space of time, so I wasn’t about to tell him to leave because of that. He was kind, clever, reassuring and full to bursting point with useful hints and advice on how to make running things just that little bit easier.

In fact, so extensive was his knowledge that one evening –after the day’s work was done and the till rattled faintly with gold – I eagerly asked him if he had ever mentored other Cooking Attendants in this way. Strangely enough, the question seemed to rather amuse him, so much so that he had to set down his teacup and raise a carefully positioned hand up to his lips to stifle a laugh.

“Goodness me, Miss Attendant, you do flatter me, but I assure you that this is the first time I have offered up my experience to someone in your line of work.” He had tittered, using his spare hand to pat my wrist, at which I had to hold back a flinch, his palm was _boiling._

“However, what I am most savvy in is business, which has given me a rather flexible set of skills. My usual field of expertise is actually antiques, though I am sorry to say that I have been away from the profession for quite some time now. My colleagues would constantly nag me, you see; they’d insist that I was working too hard, and that I should take a break, so I did, and that is how I have found myself here with you in Gloriville.”

“But… Aren’t you now working with me?” I asked him, a crease darkening my brow. “You’re meant to be on a break, right? So why are you dedicating so much of your time to me?”

With the air of a man caught in the act, Peking had sighed, his golden eyes shimmering eerily in the dim lights of the kitchen, his hot hand still rested gently on my wrist.

“I confess, I have not exactly taken this little _’break’_ as seriously as I perhaps should have,” he had chuckled, “but there was only so much reading and singing that I could do before my mind began to wander away. Far, far away into dark corners that I really do not care to revisit. While it is true that I tend to overwork, I like to keep myself busy, Miss Attendant, I am sure that you – like many others – can understand that an occupied mind is a _happy_ one.”

I did understand, how could I not?

Even before coming to Tierra, I had long since perfected the art of distracting my mind, and had finely tuned the way in which I would build up an imaginary brick wall up around my brain, protection against the thoughts and fears so desperate to dig their way into me. Poking and prodding at me again and again until my nerves were shattered with rage and anxiety.  
Yes, I had played that game many, many times with myself, and the fruits of my labour would only show themselves if a busy routine was formed, and rigidly stuck to. 

So from then on, I didn’t feel the need to ask questions about Peking’s impromptu decision to help out with the restaurant again. It made sense after all… 

Besides, I had much, much more serious matters to think about.

-

Two weeks after the Fallen’s stampede through Gloriville, the market finally re-opened, having been almost trampled flat to the ground during the incident. Thankfully, no one had been killed or even hurt, but a great amount of produce had been lost, which – given how scarce some foods had become since the Fallen had risen to power – was nothing to scoff at, and quite a few stalls had been ousted completely from the market square as a result.

Like most problems that arose at the restaurant, Peking had a solution, and suggested to me that I should draw up a timetable for myself and my staff, so that I could set aside times of the day for market trips, restaurant maintenance, laundry, cash up and so on and so forth. Of course, as was the same in any rotor system, myself, Tempura, B-52 and Peking took these duties in turns, and today, B-52 had found himself tasked with the job of going out to the market. These trips to the market had also paid off handsomely, as the purchase of various fruits and flour had allowed me to make a dessert or two, which – despite being simple recipes – had gone down quite well with the customers who were still kind enough to give my food a try.

The day was a Monday, and our flow of customers had been virtually non-existent from about noon, giving us all ample time to complete a few tasks around the restaurant. B-52 in particular was very happy about his job today, he had developed a soft spot for going out to the market, even though he was limited to the use of one arm, one eye, and was constantly hindered by a limp, he still managed to buy everything I requested, thoroughly enjoying the fresh air and exercise as he did so. 

It was because of this good mood he was in, that my brain suddenly coughed up a nagging feeling that I’d been forcing down for the last fortnight… The issue of the invitation Spaghetti had sent me. 

Of course, I couldn’t imagine Peking or Tempura being particularly happy with me going to this ball either, but B-52’s opinion on the matter would be far more personal than anything they had to say, and therefore I found myself valuing it a little more than theirs. Really, I wasn’t sure why I was placing so much importance on the whole thing, after what Spaghetti had tried to do, I was surprised at myself for even considering attending the event, but _something_ inside of me just wouldn’t let it go. At least not until I confided in B-52, I wagered. 

He and I were alone in the kitchen together when this problem occurred to me, I was busy at the sink and he had taken it upon himself to boil some hot water for tea, a task that I still couldn’t bring myself to do on most days. I knew there and then that I probably wouldn’t find a better chance than this to ask the cyborg about the invitation, but before I even had the chance to open my mouth, Peking Duck strolled in, beige robes billowing about him as usual, and his long plait looped neatly around his arm so that it didn’t drag across the floor.

“Miss Attendant,” he greeted me politely, “I was wondering if you might accompany me into Gloriville, there are quite a few services there that would bolster your business if you know the right people. Which I happen to.”

“Oh! Alright,” I said quickly, drying my hands and reaching behind me to untie my apron, casting a quick glance over towards B-52 as I did so, “um, give me a minute, Peking, I just need to change into something that I won’t mind getting dirty.”

“Take your time.” The enigmatic Food Soul laughed, before turning and gliding back into the dining room, leaving a faint whiff of that odd, sweet scent behind him. 

B-52, who had watched like a hawk as the other Food Soul left, sighed and reached across to turn out the gas crackling beneath the kettle, straightening out his shoulders and back, filling the room with a musical clicking of metal, a sound that had become almost dear to me in its familiarity.

“In that case, I will also take my leave for the market, Master Attendant.” He spoke simply, moving past me towards the door, slowly at first as that limp once again hindered him from walking too quickly. “I was only boiling the kettle for you and your advisor, but you will not be needing it now.”

“B, wait a second.” I began hurriedly, reaching out to close my hand gently around his wrist to stop him from going, deciding in that split second that I had to tell him _right now._ “Do you mind if I talk to you? It won’t take long.”

B-52 visibly hesitated, eyes falling to gaze quizzically at my hand on his wrist, which I chose to take as a good sign, a sign of him deciding whether or not to obey me. Over the past few weeks, I had been asking, almost encouraging him to argue with me if I said or did something he didn’t like, and I was glad to see that perhaps it was beginning to pay off. 

“… Yes. Alright.” He replied after a while, and he followed my lead back into the kitchen, where he stood stiffly beside the sink before me, almost to attention, with his head cocked to the side inquisitively.

With my hands pressed together tightly – as though praying – I met his eye, my lips twisting this way and that as I struggled to choose the right words. How exactly could I go about saying this? That I was considering attending a ball hosted by the very Food Soul that had tormented B-52 relentlessly for only God knew how many years. There really was no easy way of saying it, and even with his malfunctioning scanner still covered, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t choose to attack me anyway. The contract would supposedly stop him from doing such a thing, but with a Food Soul like him, I really couldn’t be sure.

“Right. I’m just… N-No, no, I’m…” I began, but backtracked almost immediately as I heard the words leave my mouth, my face was flushed with frustration, which only grew worse the longer I stalled. God, why was I suddenly clamming up like this?

“Look, just… Take this.” I finally mumbled, pulling my wallet out of my apron pocket to retrieve the invitation, though I had to fight a little to free it, having stuffed it away haphazardly with a thought to deal with it later. Shaking slightly, I held out the tiny slip of paper for him in my equally tiny hand, which was almost dwarfed by his as he reached out to pluck it from me. “I… Don’t know how else to explain it, so just read it, please?”

B-52 didn’t reply immediately, his single, electric blue pupil had begun roving carefully over the paper, taking it all in, hopefully calculating a response. Slowly but surely, a silence deadlier than poison rose up between us, filling the room until I almost felt like crying. After that painful pause, he finally glanced back down at me, though he remained stony-faced and quiet until I found that I could take no more, and I began spluttering furiously as I tried to justify myself.

“I shouldn’t have g… L-Listen, I won’t go, okay? I shouldn’t have given that damned thing to you in the first place.” I gabbled desperately, making a grab for the paper, but B-52’s arm snapped up with frightening speed, holding it high above my head and out of my reach, that blue eye still fixed rigidly on my face, unblinking.

“Oh, B, please!” I exclaimed, panic blooming in my chest and throat, almost taking my breath away. “Please, don’t be angry with me! I’m sorry for even mentioning it to you, I’ll…”

“I think that you should go to the ball, Master Attendant.”

I paused, still breathless with fear, eyes wide and my lip quivering with the promise of tears. Had I heard that right?

“Huh?” I repeated dimly, my hands dropping down to my sides with a _slap._

B-52 lowered his arm, and angled his gaze back down to the invitation he held, turning it over and over between his metal fingers experimentally, a frown forming between his thin eyebrows. I forced myself to swallow, keeping down a bubble of _something_ in my throat, I had initially thought that it was fear – he was still incredibly scary when he wanted to be – but it felt a little different from before. Perhaps I was just getting used to feeling fear, God knows I had experienced enough of it in Tierra.

“There will be many influential people in attendance at this function, there _always_ are.” B-52 went on darkly, shaking his head. “I have never liked these events, but if I may, Master, I suggest that you should attend regardless, potentially to build connections for the good of restaurant.”

I stared at him, hardly daring to believe what I was hearing. What a strange man, I found myself thinking, and once again I began wondering what exactly made him tick. If I were in his shoes – or boots, rather – I would have purged everything that even slightly reminded me of Spaghetti from my life, and I would’ve done it with _relish._ But despite my confusion, I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, and I wondered if perhaps – one day – I could bring myself to be like him.

“But… Is building those connections worth potentially risking my safety?” I asked. “We don’t know what his intentions are, after all. How can I be sure that he won’t try anything?”

At that precise moment, Peking Duck’s voice echoed in from the dining room, he sounded pressed for time, and a tad more insistent than before.

“Miss Attendant! I do not want to risk walking back in the dark!”

I swore lightly under my breath, glancing up to meet B’s eye, and in that moment we both seemed to realise something. _Peking_ was at the centre of all of this, after all it was _him_ who had managed to ‘persuade’ Spaghetti into letting me keep the restaurant, and just like I had pondered a fortnight ago, I found myself thinking yet again… Perhaps Peking was also behind the invitation I had received. 

Either Peking was _that_ good of a negotiator, or… Well, what else he could’ve done didn’t bear thinking about. But regardless, at that moment I was somehow sure that, if I did decide to go to the ball, no harm would come to me. It was clear that both B-52 and I could sense that despite his help, and despite how fond I had grown of him, there was something about Peking that could make even the burliest of villains _quiver_ in their boots. 

The eyes – I decided – it was all in the eyes. 

“You should call sooner rather than later,” B-52 said swiftly, aware that Peking was waiting, “in regards to your concerns, Master Attendant, I can confidently say to you that Master S… Spa… Master Sp… Agh…”

I watched with growing concern as he fumbled about with his words, his jaw growing slack and his electric blue eye darting this way and that, almost looking for a way out. Realising that he needed help, I held out my hand to him, voicing a suggestion to the room.

“Just… Just call him… W-Well just that, call him _him,_ if you don’t want to call him your Master, I know I w…”

“I’m fine.” He spoke, his voice a little snappy, defensive. “What I was trying to say is as follows; _he_ will not try to harm you there, he would not risk disrupting a function like this, it is far too important to the family he acts as an advisor to. It is essential for him to avoid scandal at all costs, which is the only logical reason as to why he has invited you to this ball in the first place. Perhaps he wishes to make amends, or at least _pretend_ to for the sake of his reputation.” 

With that, he leant forward a little, gesturing to my breast pocket. “Your pen. May I have it?”

Bewildered, I handed it to him, and watched with mounting confusion as he set the invitation down onto the kitchen countertop, and after some struggle, managed to write something onto the tiny slip of paper. From what I could see, he wrote in a very untidy scrawl, the sight made me smile a little, he wrote like I did, rushed and all over the place.

“Do not contact the Nevras Estate, that will result in you talking to… _Spaghetti_ over the phone,” he said coldly, handing the newly altered invitation back to me, “call this number instead. It will put you through to a Food Soul called _Panettone,_ she is the head housekeeper of the estate. You will not have to talk to Spaghetti, but try not to mention my name, there is always a chance that he will be in the room with her when she takes your call.”

“Right.” I mumbled, though I wasn’t entirely sure what good this would do. If Spaghetti was likely to hear the call anyway, how would that be any less risky than calling him directly? 

From the dining room, I heard Peking Duck call again and I sighed deeply, slipping the invitation back into my wallet. 

“I have to go, B.”

“Very well. I shall make sure to have tea ready for you when you return.”

“… Are you alright?” I asked, realising that I couldn’t leave him without making absolutely sure that he was of sound mind. “About all of this. Please, believe me when I say that I don’t have to go to the ball if you don’t want me to.”

B-52 spared me one last glance over his shoulder, and from where I was standing, all I could see was the torn up side of his face, the metalwork and the synthetic teeth poking through the fake skin, half hidden by the cloth still tied about his face. Even though I couldn’t see his working eye, I could tell that he was frowning, the thought made me shiver. 

“I cannot force you to do anything, Master Attendant.” He said softly, and he turned on his heel, exiting the room at a swift pace, leaving me alone and feeling – if possible – even guiltier than before.

-  
At the sight of the snow outside, Peking’s kindly expression immediately soured once again, his lip curling as he stepped out into the frozen air, holding his arms tightly around himself in order to conserve warmth. We walked on in an oddly tense silence, down the hill, past Mister Pan’s shop, through the market, and down several, narrow, winding back lanes and alleys that I had never been through before. They were gloomy and secluded, lined with traditionally styled houses and shops, lit only by the daylight filtering in from above, I thought that it would’ve looked oddly inviting had their doors and windows not been shut tightly against the winter’s chill, and the keen, icy wind that blew through had not long since snuffed out the paper lanterns that hung outside the odd doorway. 

Gloriville could be so pretty when it wanted to be, and I deeply regretted never having enough time to visit places like this more often. 

“I cannot fathom how the people of Gloriville stand this wretched weather,” Peking suddenly said to me through chattering teeth, “thankfully it is warm where we’re going, you will not have to put up with this for too long, Miss Attendant.”

“I’m used to it,” I replied, my footsteps crunching loudly as I flattened a snowdrift beneath my feet, “I come from the North remember, _far_ North, snow like this is a very common occurrence for me. I would actually call this a light snowfall back home.”

“Ah.” He laughed, a dry, somewhat bitter sound that rang hollowly through the alleyway. “You should count yourself lucky then. I – for one – am never prepared for these conditions.”

“Maybe one day you can learn to love it?” I asked, it was an innocent enough question, but I wasn’t prepared for the downright derisive laugh that suddenly burst from my companion. Peking Duck swayed slightly as he walked, his face half-hidden behind a sleeve as he tried to stifle his laughter.

“Dear dear, Miss Attendant, I have been alive for a very, very long time now,” he finally giggled, surveying me with one beady, golden eye, “if I have lived for this long without learning to love the snow, I doubt that my opinion is subject to change now. Surely you can understand.”

I wasn’t entirely sure why, but I endeavoured to stay silent for the rest of the journey. I was confident that Peking had not intended to all but scare me into silence, but there had been something about his voice and that _look_ in his eye that had almost seemed like a warning. His whole demeanour was deeply confusing to me, it wasn’t as if he truly scared me – goodness knows I would've rather met him in a dark alley than B-52 – but these odd, tense, almost threatening moments kept on happening. It was rather like being with an aggressive dog that had been muzzled, the situation was controlled, but those teeth were still bared, and muzzles weren’t completely failsafe.

However, for now I was willing to let it slide, he had done so much to help my rickety business, and after considering all of that, I really didn’t mind too much if he occasionally looked at me like I was a piece of meat.

Only if it _stayed_ occasional.

On we went, through alley after alley, down street after street, until Peking’s concern about walking back to the restaurant in the dark suddenly came back to me. I glanced over at him, concerned, about to ask just how much further we had to go, when his hand suddenly found its way onto my arm again, and his voice finally rang out in the cold, dry air.

“Through here. There we go.”

Before I knew where I was or how I’d got there, the Food Soul had lead me sharply to the left, through a tiny walkway so narrow that we had to walk in single file. Bewildered, I had no choice but to follow, but it didn’t take us long to reach the other side, and when we did, I found that my breath was almost instantly taken away as a swell of utter delight suddenly rose up within my chest.

We had emerged from the winding back lanes out into what was unmistakeably a dockyard, not the biggest I had ever seen, but it was almost alarming to me in its familiarity. For a few moments, I simply stood there, allowing myself to take it all in, the ships, the crates stacked up and ready to be sailed out, the enormous cranes, the smell of the salt in the air, and of course the occasional cry of a seagull overhead… How I hadn’t heard or _smelled_ the place up until now was a complete mystery to me, a place that reminded me _so strongly_ of what I had lost back home. Dimly, I heard Peking say something into my ear, but I barely even registered him, and allowed my eyes to slip slowly closed, letting the noises around me transport me back home, back to life in my little house beside the Barents sea.

“Miss Attendant?” Peking was laughing, a hand shaking my shoulder gently. “Have you gone off into a dream?”

I opened my eyes, immediately meeting Peking’s and giving him a wide, stupid grin, I gestured around us, to the industrialised scene, my cheeks flushed with delight.

“I… Used to live by a dock back home. Well, a port really,” I said happily, taking in a long, filling my lungs with the salty air greedily, as if I could somehow gain back a piece of my home if I breathed deeply and wished hard enough, “a little bigger than this one, I… Remember as a little girl, it had only just been built, and I’d sit at my window, watching the ships coming in from all these different countries and then back out again. They’d be carrying all sorts, crates, ammunitions, and supplies for the City, and I couldn’t understand any of the languages those foreign seamen spoke at first. But it was my home, I ah… I can’t tell you how much I miss it.”

Peking wore a strange expression on his face, something directly in between understanding and confusion, and he sighed tragically when I eventually ceased my rambling, patting my arm with those hot hands of his.

“I’m truly sorry, Miss Attendant, but I hope that – even though this is not the dock you knew – it can bring you some comfort regardless.”

“It does, it really does.” I said hastily, nodding. “Thank you for bringing me here. Um, why _did_ you bring me here, though? You said you had connections, didn’t you?”

“Indeed I did, and I do.” Peking replied, offering me his arm, which I took tentatively, a little unsure of what to do. I was used to being lead around by the hand or wrist after all.

As we moved further and further towards the docks, I began to notice little things that I hadn’t seen before upon arriving. First was the sheer size of the ships moored in the port, varying all the way from tiny yachts and sailboats up to two huge cargo ships, one of which looked as if it was in the process of being loaded. I surveyed the work around me with a soft smile, I’d done my fair share of dockyard work after all, and I remembered the adrenaline it always used to give me; the thrill of hard work, the sea air rustling my hair and my clothes, the rowdy get-togethers myself and the rest of the workers always had after the daily grind. I missed that kind of work, the kind of work that _meant_ something. 

Completely caught up in my memories, I didn’t immediately realise that the scenery around us had changed, and I glanced up dreamily, expecting to see yet more ships above us, only to find my vision obscured by another, massive structure. It looked to me like a hangar, with its doors flung wide open, revealing the utterly _Goliathan_ structures they stored within. 

The hangar looked old, a few decades at the very least, and was far bigger than any I’d seen back home, the inside was vast and gloomy, and just a few yards from the door, there sat what looked to me like a number of gigantic, golden ships. The air around us was suddenly filled with an enormous humming, no doubt emanating from the gargantuan ships as they laid in wait like sleeping giants, there were people scurrying around them too, stacking crate after crate into the machines vast interiors, filling every inch. Though I was too amazed to really think on it properly, somehow that low, consistent humming sounded oddly familiar to me, and oh how I would’ve _loved_ to look closely at the engines, to study them and pry deeper into the machinery, into the way they’d been made. It was the same, oddly carnal longing I’d felt with B-52, and at that moment, I dearly wished that I had been given a job down here, instead of being tucked away in the claustrophobic streets of Gloriville’s City centre.

“Peking? These can fly, can’t they?” I asked, gesturing to the mechanical monsters as we passed. “They’re fantastic! They remind me of blimps, but they’re far bigger than any blimp I’ve ever seen. What exactly are they classed as? Airships?”

“Correct,” Peking replied happily, glancing up at the colossal haulers as we passed, “I’ve been told that these are actually prototypes for a new range of models. Production has been slow for this company as of late, they suffered the loss of their head designer around a decade ago, and since then they have found it a little harder to keep up with the times, as well as demand. It takes a great amount of money, time and skill to design and build these ships after all, that isn’t to say that their workforce isn’t talented, however, and by the looks of things, they’re starting to catch up again.”

“This place really does remind me so much of my home,” I mused, not immediately realising that I had spoken aloud, “this dockyard, and the water. All those great ships and crates all ready to be packed up and sent off here there and everywhere. When I first a… Um, when I was a little girl I mean, the first thing I used to see and smell every morning was the sea. Ahah, blin, God knows what state it’s all in now.”

“I’m glad to hear that it brings you such comfort, Miss Attendant.” Peking was saying, pulling on my sleeve lightly, steering me away from the ships and out of my reverie. “As a matter of fact, the woman we are here to see is quite familiar with this port. I believe that she can help you to earn some extra money where possible.”

“Oh! Um, how so?” I asked, jogging a little to keep up with him, my eyes still fixed on the airships towering above us, fingers itching, longing to just press a palm against the metal. Just once! But it seemed that I had other things to think about, as I realised that Peking was leading me towards a little office-like building set alongside the hangar. As well as several, laminated documents plastered to the door, a sign written in strange symbols was also present, but judging by the colour, I could have a guess that it read something along the lines of ‘authorised personnel only.’

“Her name is Chang Yan’er, and I am afraid she speaks no English, but don’t worry, I will be able to translate for you both.” Peking was saying, reaching up to clean his monocle on his sleeve. “While her main role is to help maintain the airships you have seen, she is also a supplier of high-end catering that provides service for many places throughout Tierra. Do you see what I’m suggesting?”

I thought for a moment.

“I think so? You’re suggesting that if she and I work together, she will pay me for supplying her with a few dishes from my restaurant?”

“That is my goal for you, yes.” Peking nodded. “Especially since one of the biggest demands is desserts and other sweet dishes. Those little quaint desserts you keep on making would be ever so popular, I have yet to see _’plum in potato’_ on any menu in Tierra.”

I snorted, about to tell him that _knedle_ wasn’t exactly the most exotic dessert in the world, but I found myself interrupted as the door to the office suddenly swung open, and a woman stepped out, her dark eyes twinkling and her round face split into a wide, glad smile, which Peking returned with a nod of his head and a solemn.

“Ní hǎo.”

“Nín hǎo!” She replied enthusiastically, stepping out and over to us, but despite her cheerful demeanour, she seemed keen to greet Peking and only Peking, as she didn’t even spare me a glance before striking up a conversation with the Food Soul, in a rapid, happy tone. 

Unable to understand a word that she was saying, I decided to just stay where I was, my hands in my pockets and my eyes once again travelling around the dockyard, until I felt Peking’s hand on my shoulder, signalling that it was time to return to the conversation. 

“Don’t be shy, Miss Attendant, a good first impression is essential in this particular type of business, say hello.”

A little unsure of what to do, I offered the woman – who I assumed was Yan’er – a tentative smile, I was pleased to see that she gave one in return, but was all too aware of the clear amusement in her rosy cheeks and her sharp eyes. She probably didn’t see me as a serious business partner at all, but she put out her hand anyway, talking animatedly as I took it. Utterly clueless as to what she was saying, I glanced up at Peking, who after a while provided the translation.

“She says that she has not seen you in Gloriville before, and she wants to know where you’re from.”

“Oh, um,” I blustered, turning my eyes back to Yan’er, eager not to appear rude by listening to Peking more than her, “Eastern Europe, well, _North_ Eastern Europe I suppose you could say, although I’m not sure what you could call it now, thanks to the Fallen. I’ve only been in Gloriville for a month or so, that’s why you haven’t seen me.”

As Peking translated back to Yan’er, the woman tilted her head, listening intently, but never taking those bright eyes off of my face. She still looked amused, but I could see the tiniest glimmer of curiosity there too, which I hoped was a good sign, perhaps that curiosity would bloom into the kind of deal Peking was obviously aiming to secure for the restaurant. 

But honestly… Why _was_ he doing all of this? Was his motive truly just to help?

However, I didn’t have much time to think on it properly, as with a nod and a smile, Yan’er turned back towards the office, beckoning for us to follow, which – to my relief – was something that didn’t need translating. Really, I would have to look into learning the language, it wasn’t just here that I encountered a language barrier; it was in the restaurant too. Perhaps I could ask Peking to start teaching me, if he really was as set on helping my business as had he said.

With Yan’er leading the way, Peking and I followed her into the warmth of the small office, almost immediately I heard the Food Soul sigh gladly above my head as he was finally given relief from the bite of winter outside. The room we had entered into was a cosy little space, jam packed with things one would expect to find in an office; wooden desks, shelves stuffed to bursting with files, battered old corded telephones that would occasionally spring into life with a cheery ring, and of course a well-used and well-loved coffee machine stuffed into the far right corner of the room. 

Besides Yan’er, there were around five or six more people working in the same office as her, all of who looked up as Peking and I entered, and with a startled murmur that carried around the room, they all stood from their seats, eyes wide. After a moment’s confusion, I realised that – of course – they were standing for Peking, not me, I really had begun to notice that the Food Soul seemed to make an impression upon a lot of people wherever he went. I couldn’t help wondering why, perhaps this obvious display of respect was why Spaghetti had backed down from the threat of taking the restaurant for me. Surely someone as respected and _revered_ as this would have quite a lot of people backing him up should he need it.

We weaved our way through the desks, Yan’er in the lead, myself and Peking trailing behind, the latter smiling and occasionally nodding to the people he passed, who one by one took their seats again, but the whispers of admiration still continued, filling the room with a distinctive _rustling._  
At the end of the room, Yan’er took a seat at the only empty desk, and immediately began opening up the draws built into it, bringing out papers and – to my dismay – more forms. Peking moved around me to stand beside Yan’er’s chair, scanning the papers she was sifting through and giving me a brief rundown of everything written there.

“I believe that these papers are here just in _preparation_ for a deal,” he said, “I have no doubt that she will need to see your cooking before anything can be signed. But you should let her brief you on the company’s goals, their incentives and so on and so forth, just so you know what is expected of you.”

“Mn, alright.” I replied, heaving a tiny sigh as yet more papers were brought out onto the desk, all of them written in those strange symbols. I wasn’t exactly a confident reader in my own language, let alone in someone else’s. “I hope my cooking is enough, then. Do you think the knedle will work? I can always ask B-52 to get us some more plums from the…”

“B-52!?”

I choked on my words in surprise, as quite suddenly Yan’er stood up from her desk, her mouth agape and her eyes wide, staring at me as if she were seeing me properly for the first time. For a few moments, we stood gaping at each other, even the normally composed Peking didn’t seem to know what was happening, and in the end he cleared his throat, leaning around to directly address Yan’er, perhaps to ask if she was alright, but I couldn’t tell.

However, Yan’er didn’t seem quite so keen to listen to Peking anymore, on the contrary, it looked as if she had only eyes for me now, and in a flash she had seized both of my hands, almost wringing them in her own, her tone insistent and desperate as she spoke. No, no, asked? Was she asking a question?

“B-52?” She asked again, but that was about everything I could understand. _”B-52?”_

“Peking? I-Is she alright?” I asked, glancing across at the Food Soul for help, once again wishing fervently that I could understand Yan’er. It didn’t feel right to look to Peking every time she spoke.

“She is… Ah…” Peking paused, as Yan’er began to speak again, rapidly, insistently, pointing to the draws of her desk with a quivering hand. “She is saying that she has blueprints here… Ah. Dear, dear, there now, there now...”

To my great relief, he moved to pull Yan’er aside, talking to her in a hushed, comforting tone, trying his best to calm her down, which she eventually did, though her cheeks remained dusted with red, and her eyes oddly watery. Sniffing greatly, she gave me one, last, almost hopeful look before stooping down to open the very last draw of her desk, however unlike the rest, this one had been fitted with a lock.  
Quite suddenly, I became aware that the rest of the people in the room had begun to creep closer, still whispering amongst themselves, talking behind their hands, curiosity etched deeply into every face.

At long last, Yan’er stood up from where she had been searching, two, large rolls of paper held under her arms. Still sniffing, she cleared a space on her desk, pulled off the rubber bands holding the paper in place, and smoothed them both out across the wood for both Peking and I to see.  
Peering over her shoulder, I saw that they were blueprints – no doubt what Peking had been referring to earlier – but it was the content of those two blueprints that soon had my heart beating furiously, hammering against my ribcage, desperate to burst out of my body.

“That’s… That’s B-52.” I managed, gesturing weakly to the images, drawn precisely and painstakingly onto the blue paper, everything perfectly illustrated and labelled, the details of his body, arms, hands, wings all meticulously sketched out, every sinew, every wire and every ball joint clearly visible. 

God above, this was _just what he needed…_

Through the excitement simmering away inside my head, I vaguely registered a pawing at my sleeve, and I glanced to the side to see Yan’er staring at me. She was speaking again, her eyes red-rimmed with the promise of tears, her lips trembling ever so slightly, and though I still couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, I felt like I understood _something,_ of what she was feeling.

“Peking?” I asked, without looking over at him this time. “What did she say?”

“She is telling you about her father,” Peking replied, and there was an odd, almost sombre tone to his voice, “he… Ah, what a coincidence, _he_ was the company’s head designer, the one who I told you about. A Nationally renowned designer of aircraft, but this, _he_ was his magnum opus.”

“Her – y-your _father_ made B-52?” I blurted out, but Yan’er wasn’t done, and she carried on talking, pointing to various parts on the blueprints, circling her finger around the second piece of paper, which was dedicated to the inner workings and delicate configurations of B-52’s wings, the same wings that were still completely out of action from the Fallen’s attack.

“She says that she is _almost_ sure that her father was responsible for the Food Soul known as B-52 Cocktail,” Peking went on, “these blueprints are definitely his work, and the way in which he designed him and the engines that power his wings follows that of a bomber aircraft designed in the…”

“Oy blin!” I cried out, suddenly overwhelmed with a torrent of realisations that came bursting into mind, and I clapped a hand across my forehead, as if to contain them all. “Of _course!_ That’s where I’ve heard his name before, he’s modelled after a _bomber!”_

“There is more, Miss Attendant…” Peking said, and perhaps it was down to the excitement still bubbling within me, that his oddly icy tone didn’t give me goose bumps. “As I was saying; Yan’er states that B-52 was stolen from her father around a decade ago, she is also sure that the thieves were responsible for his death. Truly, this is all thoroughly _horrid_ business…”

At this, Yan’er’s hands suddenly snapped up to hold mine once again, and with teary eyes, she spoke again, her voice clogged with the promise of tears.

“She is asking; do you know where he is?” Peking said, moving a little closer in order to better understand the woman’s choked words. “Do you know where he is? Is he safe?”

“I-I ah…” I stammered, a little lost as to what exactly I should say, or how I should say it. “Y-Yes, yes, he’s safe. I made a contract with him a few weeks ago, he’s been living in my restaurant for a month or so now.”

As Peking translated my words back to Yan’er, the poor woman could take no more. Hiccupping and trying to hold back her tears, she released my hands and sank back into her office chair, wiping her eyes furiously on the back of her sleeve. From behind me, I felt a few people gently push past me, moving around to comfort the clearly distressed Yan’er. In the confusion, Peking swiftly stepped aside and back towards me, his thin eyebrows raised in apparent surprise.

“Well, this is certainly not what I expected.” He said, turning his head to look down at me. “Miss Attendant, it may be wise for us to come back at a later date.”

“Not yet,” I pleaded with him, suddenly filled with a determination that I hadn’t felt in weeks, “Peking, let me talk with her again, just for a moment, I just want to ask her something. Also I… If her father built B-52, surely I should invite her to the restaurant? It just doesn’t seem right if I didn’t, look at her…”

Peking turned his gaze back to the table, apparently weighing up his options before he nodded, and with a smile, he and I both moved back to the table. Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand down onto the table, not yet daring to touch the blueprints that Yan’er had so graciously shown me.

“Yan’er? May I ask you something?” I said, and was pleased to hear that Peking had begun translating my words almost immediately. “B-52 is well, I can assure you of that, but… He’s damaged, he can’t fly at the moment, he’s missing an eye, the use of his right arm and there’s _something_ up with his leg, I’m not sure what, but…”

Here, I reached out a tentative hand, my fingertips just brushing the thick paper of the blueprint.

“I-If I had these, I think I would have a decent chance of fixing him, it would give me a clue as of where to start at least. I’m by no means the greatest mechanic in the world, but I would like to try. Please.”

Yan’er had looked up from her desk at this point, and was now surveying me with an odd look in her eye, a strange mix of disbelief and amusement. Once Peking had finished speaking, she let out a small, rather derisive laugh, and shook her head as she spoke, reaching out to pull the blueprints back to her.

“I’m afraid she is reluctant to hand the blueprints over to you.” Peking said, shaking his head too. “She doubts that you will be able to get very far, even if you had them, she says that B-52 is an immensely complicated structure, there is not much room for error.”

“Oh, Yan’er, please!” I begged, drawing my hand back, thinking it a good idea not to appear _too_ pushy. “Please, he’s ever so unhappy with the state he’s in, I know I’m probably not skilled enough to fix him, but I’m _more_ than willing to try. The job I’m in now? As a Cooking Attendant? I’ll be honest with you, it’s the last thing I wanted to be, if I’d had any say in where I ended up, I would be here with all of you. Being a… An engineer, a mechanic, hell – even a _designer_ of machinery is what I want to do, I don’t want to be stuck in a kitchen for the rest of my life.”

Tight-lipped, I allowed my hand to snake across the desk again, never once breaking eye contact with Yan’er, her expression had changed somewhat, from cold amusement to a simpler, almost softer look. I ploughed on, Peking once again beginning to translate with around a five second delay. 

“I made a contract with B-52 because I want to help him, I don’t know if you have ever made a contract, but… You can _feel_ it, it’s in your chest. I’ve realised that you don’t get it with every Food Soul, but I can definitely feel it with him. It’s odd, and I wish I knew how it all worked, but that _sensation_ has brought me a lot closer to him, or so I hope. I’m not sure if he can feel it – I’m not at all sure what emotions he can feel really – but I can, and it’s made me want to see him happy, God knows he deserves to be happy after everything he’s been through.

“So, please, I promise that I won’t let anything happen to the blueprints, and… I promise that if I really, truly can’t fix him, I’ll give them back to you, and I’ll see to it that I find a professional. But for now, please, give me a chance? I want to learn and I’m confident that I can help, even if it’s just a little. He saved my life, I owe him that help…”

As Peking finished speaking, Yan’er’s lips twisted a little, surveying me through narrowed eyes, I found myself rather weirdly reminded of the way B-52 looked at me sometimes, carefully, closely as he scanned me, and at that moment, I wouldn’t have been surprised if _she_ too was able to scan those at will.

After what felt like hours, Yan’er finally sighed, her eyes flitting around at the rest of her co-workers as if asking for a second opinion. Then, with a shrug of a shoulder and a sudden hand laid atop mine, she spoke again, in a softer, more sympathetic voice.

“She’s going to make you some copies of the blueprints, Miss Attendant.” Peking murmured to me, as she gathered up the original prints, and squeezed her way past us. “I think we should save the discussion of catering for another day, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a horrible feeling that most of this chapter is filler, I'm not sure why,,, But at least Nonna now has some clue about how to fix B.
> 
> AND I got to write a little about his original Master Attendant which I've wanted to do for a while, I'm always curious about what the relationship between him and B-52 was like, since we're given so little in canon,,,
> 
> In any case, enjoy! I promise that a little more will happen in the next chapter! Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
>  _ALSO_ I'm in no way familiar with Mandarin, but I've read quite a few sources that say "Nín hǎo” is a more polite way to greet people older than you, so I'm pretty sure it makes sense for Yan'er to say that to Peking when greeting him. BUT I could be wrong, so if any of my audience is a native Mandarin speaker, please let me know if I'm wrong, and I'll correct it!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

The sky was a murky, dark grey, and snow had started to fall yet again as Peking and I arrived back at the restaurant, by which time our cheeks were pink, my breath fogged in the air from the cold, and Peking’s mood was even sourer than when we had originally left.

“I believe it is time for me to take my leave, Miss Attendant.” He said softly, huddling still deeper into his high collar, golden eyes slitted with dislike, and in the half-light of the street lamps above, they almost glowed. “I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“Oh! Y-Yes yes you too.” I stammered, caught quite off guard by that utterly _poisonous_ expression on his face. “Thank you, Peking, for taking me down to see Yan’er. I know things didn’t go to plan, but these blueprints are just what I need to help B-52, I wouldn’t have them if it weren’t for you, I owe you so much.”

“It was my pleasure.” Peking replied smoothly, his face finally loosening up as he smiled, causing a sense of relief to warm my still tense stomach. “Forgive me, but I may not be able to visit tomorrow. I’m seeing an old friend of mine, and our conversations have been known to last many an hour. Do you have enough to be getting on with?”

“I think so,” I replied, the thought of pawing over the blueprints weighing heavily on my mind, “my first priority is fixing B-52, really, and by the looks of it, I’m going to need to study up on a few things before I even attempt to do that, I’ll be fine, believe me. Um…”

I paused, suddenly struck with a feeling of concern as Peking turned to go, his face once again buried in his collar.

“Hey. You’re alright, aren’t you, Peking? You said you don’t like the cold, and it’s much colder now than it was this morning. Are you sure you don’t want tea or something before you go?”

Peking glanced back at me, golden eyes catching the light above us yet again, glistening as he surveyed me, his face totally unreadable, almost devoid of any emotion entirely. I swallowed, suddenly and rather horribly reminded of a shamanic mask, I had seen a few hanging up in some of the smaller stalls at the market, their painted faces and harsh eyes staring, teeth bared.

“No, no.” He murmured, reaching out a hand towards me, his spindly fingers adjusting the scarf I had wrapped around my neck, carefully, almost tenderly. “Forgive me, Miss Attendant, this weather truly is intolerable… I promise you that once the snow thaws and the sun returns to us, I will be more like myself again.” 

“The sun isn’t gone, Peking,” I soothed, my eyes tilted towards the sky, “it’s still there, it’s just hidden away. I have to say, it’s lucky that you don’t live in the Arctic Circle; where I came from. In the winter, we used to go for months and months without the sun rising above the horizon, and by the time it rose again, we were all so relieved to see it return that somewhere along the line, someone started a celebration. _“Zdravstvuy, solntse,”_ we called it, or “hello, sun,” if you want a translation.”

“How truly horrid,” Peking shuddered, apparently having only heard the part about the sun failing to rise, “forgive me, Miss Attendant, but you must remind me never to visit your home, as pleasant as it is to you, _I_ may be driven mad. Good evening to you, sleep well.”

“Night, Peking.”

As he wove away through the freshly fallen snow, I found myself looking after him as he went, mostly to make sure he wouldn’t slip over in the icy hindrance at his feet, but he ploughed on regardless of the snow, that tobacco pipe once again in his hands, its smoke drifting through the air was the last I saw of him as he moved further and further away. Once he had disappeared down the hill, I turned to let myself into the restaurant only to find myself immediately greeted with the sight of Tempura slumped over a table in the corner of the dining area, his gargantuan, rumbling snores filling the whole room. 

Fighting back the urge to laugh, I bolted the door behind me and crept around him; he deserved a break, the workload was still a hefty one even with Peking’s help, but not once had the Defence Soul whined or complained… Once again, as I carefully skirted him, making sure not to make any noise, I found myself thinking that I was extraordinarily lucky to have summoned a Food Soul like him. Then, as if my brain was following a pattern, I felt a horrible pang in my stomach at the thought of Pudding, and the memory of how he had lost his cool completely when I had humiliated Spaghetti.

Where was he now? Did he miss me too? Or perhaps souring my reputation with a Nevras official was enough for him to lose all respect for me. It was horrible to think about, but I knew that it was a possibility, given how rocky our relationship had been in the beginning, and how uptight of a man he could be. Truly, the worst part about losing Pudding was not knowing how we’d parted ways, for despite our quarrels, the Magic Soul truly had left a mark on my life, a _bruise_ almost, one that still hurt when I pressed it.

Olivia had a _lot_ to answer for.

However, all gloomy thoughts of Pudding were immediately forgotten as my eyes suddenly rested upon the corded telephone siting atop the till point. An odd feeling of foreboding slowly but surely began to fill me, as I scrambled about in my little bag for my wallet, aiming to retrieve the phone number that B-52 had so generously written down for me. He had said that it would be best if I called sooner rather than later, so what better time to do it than now when all of our customers had gone home?

Still moving as quietly as I could, I grabbed the phone body and slipped into the stockroom, closing the door tightly behind me as I began to dial the number, working as if in a trance. I had absolutely no idea what I was going to say to whoever picked up on the other end, I couldn’t even remember the name of the Food Soul B-52 had mentioned, and _what if_ Spaghetti was in the room? Would he snatch the phone away from them? Good God, there really were so many things that could go wrong, I was at a loss as to why I was still dialling the number, or why I had placed the receiver against my ear, or _why_ I was letting it drone out ring after ring after ring after…

_Click._

_“Welcome. You have reached the Royal Nevras Council Estate,”_ a richly accented yet pre-recorded voice soon burst through the phone, _“we are sorry, but we are currently experiencing a high volume of calls, please hold while you are connected to the next available agent. You are caller number 2.”_

Grim-faced but a little amused, I found myself a seat upon my favourite crate; really, how anti-climactic, for me to build up so much apprehension at the thought of calling, and then to be put straight on hold before I’d had the chance to speak with anyone. As I waited, my eyes swivelled about the stockroom, realising with an exasperated sigh, that I really needed to go through this whole room, sort the old from the new and, of course fix B-52’s wings, which were folded up in a corner, bent, dented and torn from the Fallen’s attack. As the silence from the phone stretched on, I eventually got up and manoeuvred my way over to that corner, putting out my spare hand to pull curiously at the ruined structure. Though the thick canvas fabric was ripped and frayed, and the metal framework had been bent and even snapped in some places, they were still massive in size, even when folded up. The large, clunky set up of an engine and two tanks that sat between the wings didn’t help their size either, what exactly did they run on? Petrol? Perhaps they ran on steam too, hopefully the blueprints would reveal all, _hopefully._

Standing there alone in the half darkness, I suddenly shuddered, and drew my hand back from the thick fabric as though stung. I knew by now that both the contract and the makeshift eye patch I had made him would stop B-52 from attacking me again, but I still couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive. He was big enough already, without these great things strapped to him, if he scared me now, how much would he scare me if he were able to fly? I remembered back when I’d first met him, and how utterly monstrous he had appeared to me in the near-complete darkness of the catacombs, staring at me from high above, a spindly mass of raw power, metal and fire…   
A nasty little thought suddenly occurred to me, one that wormed its way into my brain, spreading panic in its wake; did I really want to fix something, no, _someone_ like this? Despite our contract, he had still proven to me that he could be difficult when he wanted to, and volatile when presented with something he didn’t like, the incident with the invitation this morning had been enough evidence to back that up. Could I possibly be signing my own death warrant by restoring him and encouraging him to think for himself? The uncertainty of it all was enough to turn my skin to gooseflesh; B-52 was big and powerful enough to cause me some serious damage, perhaps even fatality, and while urging him to form his own thoughts and opinions was definitely something I wanted to do, would I be so proud of the progress he’d made if one day he quite suddenly decided that he _didn’t like me?_

I really wasn’t sure what I could do if that happened… In spite of everything we’d been through, I still somehow felt bad blood between us, and the very last thing I wanted was to get on the wrong side of someone like B-52 Cocktail. And yet, regardless of knowing the risks and the potentially stupid decisions I was making with him, I just knew that I couldn’t back out now. There was still something in me that urged me to keep going, to keep on making him as _human_ as I possibly could. It was so odd to me, how I kept going despite how much he scared me, and I realised with a rather annoyed huff, that this wasn’t the first time this had happened. What was it with me and dangerous men who… 

_Click._

“Good evening, this is the Royal Nevras Council Estate’s head office, you are speaking with Panettone, how may I help you?”

I froze, forced to slam on the emergency breaks on my train of thought; for my head was suddenly swarming with panic, talking on the phone had never been my strongest point, especially not when the stakes were this high.

“U-Um…” I blustered, fighting to remember why I was calling in the first place. “I’m… I’m calling to ask about the ball? The one that’s supposed to be happening in a month or so?”

“I am afraid that you have called the wrong number, madam,” Panettone spoke again, she had a crisp, no-nonsense twang to her voice, and I could just imagine the exasperated face she was pulling on the other end, “the number you are required to contact is on the invitation you have received.”

“I ah…” I glanced around wildly, as if to ask someone for help, but of course, it was just me inside the stockroom, B-52 wasn’t back yet, and I couldn’t very well go out and wake up Tempura, if I didn’t know what to say, he certainly wouldn’t. “But I… Look, I’m sorry, but I was given this number to call. My name is Noyabrina, I’m a Cooking Attendant in…”

“Excuse me, madam? Could you repeat that?” 

I swallowed the rest of my words, intrigued by how quickly Panettone’s voice had changed, switching instantly from sharp and official into a tone of very obvious surprise, maybe even relief?

“Madam?” Came her voice again, and she sounded a little more insistent this time. “Did you say your name was Noyabrina?”

“Yes, yes I did,” I replied, utterly unsure as to where this was all going, “I’m a Cooking Attendant in Gloriville. A member of the Skeleton Guild gave me the invitation, but I was told to call you instead of the number on the invitation. I’m sorry, I know this is probably pretty awkward for you.”

Silence, at least at first, for after a while the unmistakeable sound of whispers began to leak through the phone, tickling my ears. How many voices were there? Two? Three? It sounded like Panettone had gathered the whole of head office around her, all of them murmuring nervously until I heard a short, sharp; “Sssh!” and a hush fell once again.

Then, after a moment Panettone spoke again, yet this time her voice was nothing but sweetness and light, and she chirped buoyantly at me through the phone.

“Not at all, Attendant Noyabrina! Everyone makes mistakes; luckily I am able to provide you with all the information that you would’ve received from the other contact, so there is no harm done. Do you have a piece of paper on hand? I recommend that you write this down.”

“O-Oh, um…!” I spun around in a panic, realising that the only pens and bits of paper I had were outside on the till point. “Give me a second, I’ll find some!”

I almost ran into the door as I left the room, my hands scrabbling around atop the till point in some wild attempt to find something to write with. As I clambered, the door to the restaurant suddenly opened, and the massive figure of B-52 stooped in, his working eye glowing eerily in the shadowy dining area.

“Master Attendant.” He greeted me soberly. “I have…”

“Give me a second, B!” I yelped, grabbing what I needed and bolting back towards the stock room, swiping up the phone again as I poised my pen at the paper. “Go… Go ahead, Panettone, I’m listening.”

“Very good,” came that cheery voice again, “now then. This event is a formal one, so we expect formal dress on your part. However, we understand that as a Cooking Attendant, it will be a little harder for you to find the time to prepare appropriately, compared to some of our other clients. Therefore, we can arrange for a stylist to travel out to your location if you so desire?”

“That… Would actually be pretty useful.” I said, scrawling down the bits that I assumed to be important, “how much is this whole thing going to cost me, by the way? Because I don’t think I’ll have as much money as some of your other clients either.”

“The appointment is part of our mandatory service, so there will be no fee, but I’m afraid you’ll have to purchase your chosen garment yourself,” Panettone replied, a hint of amusement in her voice clearly audible, even over the phone, “however, I will say that hiring a garment is far cheaper than buying one. After all, you’ll only need it for a night, and if I recall correctly, there is a shop in Gloriville that provides a hire service. I will see to it that your stylist has the catalogue of their products on hand during your appointment.”

“Great… Great!” I said enthusiastically, still scribbling.

“Now, in regards to travel,” the Food Soul continued, “the journey from Gloriville’s coach station to the estate is a three hour journey, give or take. Therefore, if you want to avoid such a trek, I recommend that you find temporary accommodation somewhere in Nevras for the night. Though I warn you, prices can be high.”

“The coach is fine,” I said gruffly, wincing as I imagined just how much money I’d have to splash around before I could even think of finding a place to stay in Nevras, “this thing starts at 7PM, right? So would 3PM be a good enough time to leave from the station? I’ve got to buy myself a ticket for the journey too, I assume?”

“Yes and yes,” Panettone replied, though her voice was almost drowned out by the noise behind me as the stockroom door creaked open, “I suggest that you book your coach ticket now, rather than any time closer to the date, prices are cheaper when the journey date is further away. I am aware that all of this seems very expensive to you, Attendant Noyabrina, but our events are an excellent way to establish contacts and of course to get the word out about your restaurant. I can assure you that you will be very well looked after, there has to be a reason why you received your invitation, after all.”

“I guess…” I mumbled, once again thinking back to the rather uncomfortable mystery behind the invitation. “I’m not terribly excited to go, but it wouldn’t do me any harm, I suppose.”

“Quite. I can assure you that your evening with us will be very pleasant indeed. I believe that we already have your street on record, but you may need to stand outside to greet the stylist when he arrives. Is Monday week a good date for you?”

“Um… Y-Yeah, yeah.” I spoke hesitantly, all too aware of the sudden, troubled whirring that had started up beside my ear, I didn’t dare look behind me, the last thing my already fried nerves needed was to see just how close B-52 had managed to get to me. “That date sounds fine. Thanks for this, Panettone, sorry again about calling the wrong number.”

“Not at all,” she laughed, though I could’ve sworn her voice faltered a little, petering off into silence, once again almost entirely masked by the insistent rumbling coming from behind me, “I hope that this isn’t too invasive of me to ask, but, is everything alright in Gloriville? I understand that there was quite the incident with the Fallen a few weeks back, you are alright, aren’t you, Attendant Noyabrina?”

“I’m… Fine, yes.” I said, my brow furrowing, a little taken aback by how personal she had suddenly become. There was something odd about the way she was talking, almost like she was trying to hint at something to me, as if she were communicating to me in code.

“And your staff?” She went on, and that strange prying, pressing note grew ever stronger. “The Food Souls working for you. Are they happy? Are they in _good health?”_

“What are y…”

Then finally, I caught on; to what she was asking, to why she’d suddenly changed her demeanour, to why she’d been so helpful to a customer that she clearly hadn’t wanted to speak with at first. With a sudden jerk of my head, I stuck out my free hand behind me, my fingertips colliding with what I dearly hoped was B-52’s arm, the metal hummed gently under my skin with the vibrations of his engine, warm and oddly alive.

“Um… Yes, yes, everyone is fine.” I said, deciding that I could at least grant her a little reassurance. “He’s _just fine.”_

A sigh hissed its way through the phone’s speaker, a short, relieved outtake of breath, and when Panettone spoke next, the exhilaration in her voice almost brought me to tears.

“Good. Good… Give… Give them my best. Have a wonderful evening, Attendant Noyabrina, and thank you for calling the Royal Nevras Council Estate.”

_Click._

A loud, long release of breath suddenly burst from my chest with an urgency akin to one’s first breath after breaking the surface of the water. Completely overwhelmed with relief, I sat back without thinking, only to find myself staring up into the very confused face of B-52, an expression that was perfectly justified considering I had just fallen into his lap. Suddenly tense again, I swallowed and abruptly hauled myself back up into a sitting position, averting my eyes from his quizzical gaze.

“Sorry. Sorry, B-52… I forgot you were there.” I said hurriedly, chancing him a smile and hoping against hope that he wasn’t still in the same, grouchy mood from this morning “I ah… I just got off the phone with Panettone. I don’t think Spaghetti was there, so by the looks of things, I’m all set.”

“I am glad to hear it.” He replied bluntly, and quite suddenly thrust out his hand, a rustling paper bag held tightly in his fist, “I have something for you. Please take it, I was very sharp with you this morning. I apologise.”

I blinked, completely stunned, this was the exact opposite of the mood I had assumed he’d be in, but I took the bag and peered into it anyway, though I soon had to hold back a wince as the contents made my stomach drop. Inside was a tiny, singular, bright pink flower, planted neatly into a miniature pot, staring up at me almost accusingly. I took it out carefully, unsure of whether to smile first, or thank him first, or…

“Oh… Gosh, B you didn’t have to get me this.”

Great way to show your gratitude, Noyabrina. 

“I know. But my behaviour was crude,” he replied, his voice set and steady, “I would have bought you a few more, but I thought it best not to spend too much money. Therefore I asked the merchant to cut just the one.”

“Oy blin, I hope he wasn’t annoyed.”

“He was.” The cyborg continued, as if it didn’t matter. “But he said that it was the best flower to give to a human woman, so I thought it best to take his advice.”

I was sure that at some point I had planned on replying, but a sudden lump in my throat soon stopped me. It wasn’t as if I didn’t appreciate him trying to make up for earlier, in fact it showed me that he was making progress! But there was a horrid, nagging feeling at the back of my mind, and I knew exactly why it was there. Perhaps it would be best to change the subject, at least for now, it was for B-52’s sake in any case. God think, woman, think think!

“I actually have something for you too!” I said, remembering everything that had happened that afternoon with a jolt. Jesus, how the Hell had I just _manage_ to forget everything like that? “Peking took me down to the dockyard today, and... God, B, I don’t really know how to word what happened to you, but…”

Trailing off, I placed his gift to me carefully to one side and scrambled about on the floor, grappling onto the blueprints tightly. I cast an excited glance up at B-52 before unrolling the thick paper as best I could, spreading both the rolls out onto my knees so that he could peer down at them, which he did with a tiny whine of metal on metal. A few, breathless moments passed, before a frown soon formed on his face, almost folding his brow in half.

“These…”

“I met – or well, so she said – I met the daughter of the man who made you, B,” I said, holding the blueprints up so that he could take them from me, the metal of his hands felt cold against mine, icy from the snow outside as he pulled the papers from me, “so… This means that I have a much better chance of fixing you now! Isn’t that exciting? I’ll have you flying again in no time, I promise.”

“Mmn.” The huge Food Soul mumbled in return, a metal finger tracing gently, almost tenderly over the carefully constructed lines. Frustratingly, I couldn’t tell exactly what he was feeling, his expression was truly blank, devoid of any human emotion. It was actually a little chilling to see, but I could understand his reaction; it must be very, very strange to have your origins laid out for you like this. But still, at least he now knew where he had come from, I hoped that that would bring him some comfort, it should… It _should._

“Are you alright, B?” I asked, deciding – rather bravely – to glance up into his face, fighting to see even the slightest ghost of a smile, or a whisper of a frown.

“… Yes.” He eventually said, and with a snap, he had sat up straight and his hands soon busied themselves with re-rolling the prints for me, only for him to suddenly stop, his arms quivering as he blurted out. “…. No. No I’m not.”

But he never got the chance to continue, as a sudden cacophony of noise burst through to the stockroom; a thumping, a creaking, a rattling of the bolts on the front door, and an unmistakeable voice calling out in desperation.

“Nonna! _Nonna? **Nonna!**_ Please let me in!”

Alight with fear and surprise, I bolted from the stockroom and burst into the dining room just in time to see Tempura’s head fly up off of his table, his eyes bleary and his mouth hanging open as he fought to make sense of what was going on around him. The sight was so funny that I almost laughed – almost – and I probably would’ve done had I not seen the horrors that were unfurling outside. 

Though the sky had been pure white when Peking and I had returned, it was now a deep, dark, frightening grey and crowded with rolling clouds, crashing overhead like waves in a sea angered by a storm. Now that I was outside the muffled walls of the stockroom, I could hear that the wind had picked up too, and it whistled furiously against the windowpanes, wailing and rattling everything it could reach, as if the very elements themselves were fighting to get into the restaurant and wreak havoc on everything it encountered. The snow kicked up by the gale was truly incredible, and it swirled in massive, billowing clouds, fogging the restaurant windows and almost completely obscuring the street. Despite the shout that I had heard, I hung back with Tempura, my hands soon reaching back to rest on the wooden table top, my heart hammering inside my chest. I knew this weather, I recognised its fury, I remembered the howling of the wind… This was no ordinary storm, I remembered telling myself that it was, I remembered telling myself that everything would be alright, and that he wouldn’t…

“Nonna!” Came a cry again, and with a gasp, I suddenly became aware of a foggy figure pressed up against the front door, hammering against the glass with trembling hands. “Nonna! Please!”

I really, _absolutely_ without a doubt did _not_ want to go out there, I knew exactly what I would see, I knew exactly what was lurking just behind the clouds, but I couldn’t let someone die because of my cowardice, damnit! I was through with that! Ignoring Tempura’s hasty, panicked shout, I shot across the room, weaving between tables and chairs before flinging myself onto the metal bolts, fumbling at them with trembling fingers until at long last, I was able to wrench the door open.  
Panting and trembling head to foot, Zhouyun fell into the restaurant, her hair hanging around her face in wet strands, her drenched clothes hanging off of her frame, making her look small and bedraggled. Gasping out a thank you, she scurried inside, leaving me to stare out into the storm, my body frozen and my lips pursed into a thin, hard line, staring up into the clouds.

Above the City, almost completely obscured by the swirling snow, I could just make out the flutter of a dark robe, and the swish of white hair, curling through the clouds like a tendril. I swallowed, my throat dry with fear, watching as the beast glided above my head, the chilling _hum_ of its voice muffled by the howling wind that it had generated. It was far, far bigger than I remembered it, how much must it have consumed by now? How many had it claimed? How many lives had it destroyed. It carried on its journey, slowly, deliberately, carving itself a path through its storm, its dark robes floating about it, and as I stood paralysed beneath it, my chest began to tighten, and my eyes burned. It was looking at me – I suddenly realised – from high up above, through the dense fog, I could make out its eyes, dark and soulless in a great, white face, watching me curiously, almost _mockingly._

It knew exactly what it had done. It _knew._ It probably found it _amusing._

“Nonna!” Came a moan from beside me, and I soon realised that there was a tugging at my sleeve, a feeble attempt to pull me back into the restaurant. “Nonna! Move! Please! If you stare at it for too long…”

Slowly, I made my way back inside, dragging my feet as if they were made of lead, and with fumbling hands, I closed the door behind me, locking each bolt with a kind of savage relish. One by one, clunk, clunk, clunk, clunk. _Stay. Away. From. Me._ I stood for a moment, my forehead rested against the cold glass, numbly watching as the snowflakes swirled before me, rushing past as if they wanted to get away too, as if they too wanted nothing to do with the monster sailing above them.

“Nonna?” That hand was back on my sleeve, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Zhouyun move towards me, her eyes murky with concern. “Are you alright? I’m sorry for bursting in like this, I was on my way to see you when that… Thing came down from the clouds. We should find cover, I don’t think it is wise to stay in here with that Fallen out there. Is there anywhere we can go?”

I turned away from the door, dull eyes looking out across the dining room, into the taught face of Tempura, and the single, glowing eye watching me from the stockroom. Why they worried was an absolute mystery to me, they were Food Souls, they were built to fight Fallen Angels, this sight shouldn’t have been alarming to them at all. They had no idea, they didn’t have to worry… 

“In there.” I said, gesturing limply towards where B-52 stood. “Even if that Fallen breaks the front windows, we’ll be safe in there.”

-

Even inside the stockroom, the wind howled on and on outside, as if the very earth itself was in pain, as if it was weeping in utter _misery_ that such monsters could ever live on its surface. I had no doubt that it could weep, I would have too. 

The atmosphere between myself, Zhouyun, B-52 and Tempura was not exactly friendly, it seemed that we were all too busy worrying about what was to come, about what the Fallen floating above Gloriville planned to do next. Zhouyun had shakily told us that the appearance of this particular Fallen could mean nothing but disaster, and we had all been – understandably – on edge since then. I myself was far too busy thinking to initiate conversation with anyone, not that any conversation could survive in a situation as tense as this. My head was swimming, a mess of thoughts and fears, one so tangled that I wasn’t sure how I would ever pull myself out of it. It was actually quite frightening, how lost in my own thoughts I felt.

First the stampede at Pan’s shop, now this… I had only ever seen this particular Fallen once before, and it had been at a horrid time of my life, one where my home had been destroyed, my loved ones scattered, and my very purpose on this planet reduced to dirt. I knew for a fact that this Fallen spared nothing, and as a result left nothing in its path if angered, I could only hope that it was in a good enough mood to pass Gloriville by. But why it had chosen to travel here – barely a month after the stampede had passed – was what was worrying me the most. Could all of this be a coincidence? Could Yuxiang’s fears really be just the prattling of an old woman who had read one too many history books? I desperately, desperately wanted to believe that. The haunted look in her eyes as she had told me about the Enhanced Fallen just wouldn’t leave me, it was there every time I closed my eyes, floating before me eerily.

I dearly, dearly wished that I could know what it all meant.

“Would anyone like tea?” B-52 suddenly muttered, his stoic voice barely audible through the gale still howling away outside. “You look upset, Master Attendant, as does your fellow Attendant. I understand it is polite to offer tea to those who are upset.”

Both Zhouyun and I looked at him, utterly taken aback at this sudden and rather strange offer, I had to admit that the idea of tea was very appealing, but the din still rattling the restaurant from outside caused me to hesitate. Eager for a second opinion, I turned to Tempura, only to find that the latter had dozed off again, his massive arms folded, his chin dipping down onto his chest. I felt a pang of guilt in my stomach yet again for leaving him to man the restaurant on his own, he was usually the most enthusiastic member of my team after all, he must’ve been completely and utterly exhausted.

“Umn, are you sure that’s a good idea, B?” I finally asked, and even I was disturbed to hear how faint my voice was, strained and pulled taught by the fear swirling within me. “We don’t know if that Fallen is gone yet, it might be dangerous.”

“I doubt that the wind will harm me.” B-52 replied bluntly, getting to his feet with that familiar creak of metal, and in the gloomy light of the stockroom, he seemed to smile. “But if it will put your mind at ease, I will take my cane with me.”

In spite of the situation at hand, I felt the corner of my mouth tremble slightly with the faintest promise of happiness. There was something so touching, so satisfying about seeing him smile, about watching that usually stone-cold eye light up, it was such an odd expression to see him pull, but that didn’t make it any less endearing. In the short time that we’d known each other, he’d come such a long way, and so great was his progress that I had to wonder why on earth Spaghetti had been so insistent on keeping him as a servant, as a machine that would obey every command.

There was a whole personality in there somewhere, I could see it, there were thoughts, feelings, opinions, a sense of humour even, and damnit I was going to help him bring those things to life.

“…. Okay then,” I replied with a sigh, sinking back against the wooden crate I had propped myself against, “just be careful, okay?”

“Affirmative.”

With that, he left, leaving me to once again begin the unsteady dip back into my thoughts, until Zhouyun’s hushed voice soon pulled me out of it.

“Goodness, he’s a… Big fellow, isn’t he?” She laughed nervously, and the sound soon reminded me that it had been a long time since I had seen her, and that she had not been made aware of anything I’d done or been through since my time in the catacombs. “What on earth did you have to do to summon a Food Soul like that, Nonna?”

“It’s… A really long story,” I huffed, rubbing my head with the palm of my hand, “I didn’t summon him actually, not at first. Where have you been though, Zhouyun? I haven’t seen you in weeks, a month almost! Then again, it’s probably a good thing that you’ve been away, I’ve gotten myself into quite a lot of trouble.”

“With that Food Soul from Nevras? Yes, I heard about that,” Zhouyun replied, a tad waspishly, surveying me through slightly narrowed eyes, “I apologise for not coming to see you sooner, my dear, but Yuxiang hasn't been feeling her best lately, so between work and looking out for her, I haven't had much time to catch up with you. Now, I didn’t hear the whole story about that Nevras Soul, but… My dear, you _do_ remember what Olivia told you about maintaining good contacts, don’t you?”

“I honestly wasn’t thinking about that when he was _threatening_ me,” I said coolly, watching with some satisfaction as her eyes widened with surprise, “and I _have_ maintained good contacts. I’m friendly with you, a few people from the market and another Cooking Attendant named Morag, I don’t have many connections, but I make do.”

“That big Food Soul out there,” Zhouyun went on, cocking her head towards the stockroom door through which B-52 had disappeared, “am I right in assuming that he had a place in this wretched business?”

“He was the reason why _Spaghetti_ tried to stomp my business into the ground, yeah,” I grunted, scoffing as I said the redheaded Food Soul’s name, “he came swaggering in here, acting like he owned the place, pushed me around and demanded I…”

“You’re very fond of him, aren’t you?” Zhouyun interrupted slyly, an oddly cheeky smile creeping across her face, the kind an old woman would pull if she suspected a crush. “I see the way you look at him, I’ve never seen you look at any of your other Food Souls like that.”

“You haven’t seen me look at Tempura.” I muttered in response, trying desperately to squash down the fear that had once again started simmering deep within my stomach, as if someone had lit a gas ring beneath me.

“Is he the one who gave you that peony?”

“The what?”

I glanced up, realising with a thrill of horror that Zhouyun was gesturing towards the flower B-52 had given me, it sat prettily atop a crate a few feet away from me, the light from the window above illuminating the pink petals, allowing the thin, intricate veins to show through, criss-crossing this way and that.

“Oh, that? Yeah, yeah he got that for me today. We had a bit of an argument this morning, so…”

“Now that flower there,” interrupted the older woman, tittering behind her hand as if she were a schoolgirl, “has many meanings to it, especially to the people here. Good fortune, compassion, bashfulness, _romance…”_

“For God’s sake! Stop it!” I yelped, and even I was startled at the volume of my voice, I heard Tempura give a huge, grunting snore from somewhere to my right, and glanced up just in time to see the Defence Soul’s eyelids flutter lightly, before his head lolled back onto his chest to resume his nap.

I knew that Zhouyun was looking at me strangely, but I didn’t care, and rather than face her head on, I lowered my face down into my hands, speaking to my palms in a strained voice that carried the promise of tears.

“I can’t _afford_ to fall in love, Zhouyun. Not with him.”

Silence fell, or at least the very closest to silence that we could get with the Fallen still hovering overhead, the noise just made it all worse, and I curled further into myself, my throat aching with the strain of keeping it all together. I hoped against hope that B-52 would take his time with the tea, the very last thing I wanted was for him to hear or see any of this.

“My dear, why on earth would you say something like that?” Zhouyun asked, and her voice was different now, hushed, as if sitting beside someone on their deathbed. “Everyone can afford to fall in love, of course they can! Love is… Love is what keeps us going, Nonna, and even though things haven’t been straightforward for you, love isn’t out of your reach.”

I snorted derisively, but didn’t reply, I really wasn’t sure how to with words; as the din raged on and on outside however, I realised that there was only one way to end this conversation quickly, anything to scare Zhouyun away from the subject of love for a while. Sniffing greatly, I unfurled myself and dug around in my pocket for my wallet, snapping open the little clasps with trembling fingers, revealing the picture that I kept inside.

“Here.” I said shortly, thrusting it out to Zhouyun. “Look, and don’t take that picture out, just look at it. Who does he remind you of, hm?”

Visibly confused and a little hurt, she took it from me, her eyebrows raising with worry and her lips thinning out into a line, much like mine did when I was faced with a difficult situation. Just as I was beginning to feel as though I had made a bad decision, Zhouyun spoke, and her voice carried a strange note to it, a sombre, understanding tone.

“Oh… Oh yes, I can see the similarity,” she breathed, “yes, yes… Fair hair, dark eyes. Goodness me, what a handsome man, yet so strange at the same time. Who is he to you, Nonna?”

“Well… Everything really,” I mumbled, my hands twisting fervently, one in my lap, pulling at the fabric of my blouse, the other tugging at my sleeve. This didn’t feel right, I was still half wishing that I hadn’t shown her his picture in the first place, “my life, my purpose, I wouldn’t be who I am today if he hadn’t been in my world. Why do you think I carry his picture with me? I… Wherever he is, I don’t want him to feel like I’ve forgotten him.”

Zhouyun looked up at me, her face marred by a look of deep concern, she reached out a hand to rest atop mine, and when she spoke, her voice was low and hushed, asking the very question that I’d been dreading.

“Where is he, Nonna?”

We both knew the answer before I’d even begun to form the words.

“Dead.” I muttered shortly, swallowing thickly, willing myself not to completely break down. “Gone. Just like that.”

Zhouyun took in a slow breath, and from somewhere above me, I could just see her shaking her head, her face taught with sympathy. We sat in silence for a few moments, letting the whistling gale kicked up by the Fallen overhead to fill the room, until my mouth suddenly opened, and more words came tumbling out.

"Do you know why I’m so on edge because of this… Damned Fallen?” I asked, raising my face and brushing away at a stray tear impatiently with the heel of my hand. “Because it… That _thing_ took him from me, okay? It came to my home, and it laid waste to everything I held dear, including him. I hoped… I almost fucking _prayed_ that I’d never see it again, but here it is. I’m sure it’s the same one, I recognise the way it’s messed up everything outside… So please, quit talking about _love,_ for Christ’s sake.”

Finally, the point seemed to have sunk in, and though I knew I would end up apologising to Zhouyun for my behaviour later when I felt a little more ‘human’, I stayed silent as I took back the wallet from her, and hurriedly pressed it against my chest with a barely stifled sob. 

However, I had done this far, far too many times to allow myself to slip up, so when B-52 eventually came back with the tea, my eyes were dry, and my wallet was shoved securely back into my pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy okay.
> 
> OOOKAY...
> 
> I'm afraid that I've revealed a bit too much, a bit too quickly. But lets see how we go!
> 
> So sorry for the slight wait this time, guys! I've been busy with work and recently there's been this maybe, maybe not game going on with us moving house. Now it seems as though we aren't moving, but who fuckin' knows, these things change all the god damn time. But still! Thank you so much for being patient with me, guys! I love y'all.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

Tight-lipped, I leant carefully back on my bed before sticking out my foot in order to gently push down the thick metal bar, slowly, my eyes narrowing with the promise of a wince. With an unholy screech of mechanical joints that absolutely needed oiling, the giant wings before me snapped open, a frightening display of spindly metal and vast canvas, dented, ripped, half wrecked from the attack their owner had suffered. Even as I watched, another piece of metal fell from the frame and onto the wood floor with a resounding clatter.

Despite the grim state of the wings, I allowed myself to relax, relieved that no harm had come to me this time. A few days ago, I had found out the hard way that these wings were designed to be opened while worn, as the first time I had tried to assess their condition had resulted in me holding a bleeding nose, and frantically telling an alarmed Tempura that I didn’t need to see a doctor. Annoyingly however, that hadn’t stopped him from fussing over me since the incident.

“You’re… Real lucky that it didn’t leave a mark,” he’d said to me over breakfast the following morning, those huge amber eyes pulled wide with apprehension, “with the force those things hit you with, but you’re not even bruised, Attendant. Still think you should rest for a few days, though, you look tired, you’ve looked tired all week!”

Those words had stayed in my mind for a long time after that, and they continued to circulate in my head even now as I leant towards the wings, pondering over the blueprints that I had spread out across my knees and over my bedspread. Of course I looked tired, running a restaurant was hard work, the damage caused by the Fallen’s storm had resulted in us closing up business for a while, and on top of that, working as a chef was something that I honestly did not enjoy doing. To say that the work exhausted me was an understatement, and _Jesus Christ,_ I suddenly thought, bending over the pieces of paper spread out across my knees, _these blueprints were complex,_ even if the designer had written his notes in English, I doubted that I could’ve made sense of them. Really, I needed Peking to translate it all for me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to piece it all together, no matter how haphazard and riddled with guesswork it ended up being. 

Hah, that was rather like my career as a Cooking Attendant, wasn’t it?

As I continued my fruitless pondering, my mind once again began to drift, as it had consistently been doing for the past hour and a half. As well as everything else on my plate, there was the uncomfortable matter of the conversation Zhouyun and I had had a week ago… God, had that attack really been a week ago? In any case, I now thoroughly regretted the whole wretched affair. My wallet and the picture contained within it had stayed firmly shut inside my wardrobe since that day, almost from the minute after the Fallen had passed us by. That conversation was also the main reason why I hadn’t started to work on B-52’s wings sooner, or he himself for that matter. Indeed, I had avoided initiating the conversations that I normally held with him for days after the Fallen’s appearance. I knew that it was selfish, and I knew that the very last thing I should be doing was taking things out on him, but still my childish behaviour had continued until today, when I had felt too guilty to carry on. He hadn’t done anything wrong, this was _my_ problem, and I needed to deal with it.

Sighing deeply, I made an attempt to re-focus my attention back onto the blueprints, but to no avail, and my brain soon slid back into a pool of my own creation, a pool of swirling thoughts, each more hapless than the last. I had found myself there time and time again, wondering what ‘my problem’ even was, that thought was almost bitter in my mouth, and my lips twisted with displeasure as I prodded and poked at the broken structure before me. What _was_ this sudden tension that had built up within me since Zhouyun and I had talked?

…

No. I thought firmly, sitting back on my mattress with a frustrated sigh, it _wasn’t_ the fact that she’d subtly implied that there was something between myself and B, because there _wasn’t,_ and I was going to make sure it stayed that way, even if it meant freezing love out of my life for good.

Frowning mightily, I continued to stare ahead at my task, trying to will myself into believing that I _could_ do this, that I _could_ fix these damned wings, until I groaned and let my head fall into my hands. Fuck it, I wasn’t getting anywhere with this, and to think that I had asked Tempura to take over managing the restaurant for the morning so that I could work on this. I needed to pull myself together and fast, I was a grown woman, for God’s sake.

-

In the week following the storm created by the Fallen, Gloriville yet again found itself battered and in need of reparations from its inhabitants. Unlike the stampede a few weeks prior, this incident had resulted in casualties, and there was a definite, sombre hush in amongst the people as a result. Even as they hurried about, making what repairs they could to their damaged homes and lives, the gloom was ever present.

Luckily, my restaurant hadn’t suffered too badly, save for a few smashed in windows and the loss of the canopy out front, but I had been reassured by Peking that the repairs wouldn’t take long.

“We must get them done sooner rather than later, though we should be thankful that we still have a place to call our own, the same cannot be said for others further into the City centre.” He’d said to me the morning after the storm had cleared, he had stumbled into the restaurant at the crack of dawn, wrapped up once again in his fur-trimmed robe and shivering fit to burst. Though his optimistic words hadn’t reflected in his face; the poor man looked how I felt, drained and washed out with circles around his eyes, so dark that I had initially feared someone had punched him.

I recognised that look, most people in Gloriville were wearing it.

This was going to be a long, long winter, filled with long, long days, and today was no different, at least not at first.

The morning was bleak, gloomy and frozen, a sight that I had seen many, many times back home, yet somehow the familiarity had faded away here, leaving me filled with frustration and a sense of hopelessness. I couldn’t even find my home in the weather anymore… With that horrible thought swirling around my head, it was safe to say that my morning wasn’t off to a good start, Peking had called ahead to inform me that he would be late, and as a result the workload weighed heavily on my shoulders, so much so that I found myself slipping off to my mid-morning tea break a little earlier than usual, a headache throbbing dully behind my eyes.

However, I’d barely begun to leave the room when the door to the restaurant opened with a creak, and two people walked in who I immediately knew would not be sitting down to eat. The first red flag being the large and unmistakeable black fork that the taller of the two wore emblazoned on his breast pocket.  
Grim-faced, I moved away from the stairs, reminded very suddenly of the appointment Panettone had set up for me a week ago over the phone, and I’d seen that damned fork enough times to recognise it for what it was. I was far from being in the mood for looking at dresses, but it had to be done, and if I made short work of this, I wouldn’t have to worry about much else for the ball. 

Anything to make my life easier was just fine with me.

As I wound my way through the tables towards them, I had just enough time to take in their appearances before initiating any conversation. The man wearing Spaghetti’s silly little logo was tall, lanky and visibly nervous, I could see it in the way he shifted from foot to foot, and how his shivery hands kept reaching up to tighten his dirty blond hair into its ponytail, again and again, despite the fact that not a lock was out of place. However, his companion couldn’t have looked more different from him if she had tried, both in body language and in the clothes she was wearing. Even in the shabby light that my restaurant provided, she was utterly _exquisite_ in a deep red dress and lipstick to match. Her face was heart-shaped and expertly painted with what I could clearly see was years upon years of experience and technique. Her golden hair was styled, twirled and twisted meticulously and expertly up into a shimmering pile atop her head, and she held herself with a confidence that was almost comically absent in her companion. 

It was very obvious to me by now that these two were Food Souls, though – as with most Souls – I had no idea what they were meant to represent, but as I reached them, I knew that there were far more important things to think about than their namesakes, and like usual, I felt my face stretching almost unconsciously into a smile. Working as a Cooking Attendant had taught me one thing at least, it had helped me to establish a nice, light-hearted mask to put on when talking to customers.

“Hello there! Am I right in thinking that I have an appointment with you?” I addressed the man first, thinking it best to establish a connection with someone clearly in Spaghetti’s employment, but to my dismay, my question seemed to scare him further as he chanced a glance down at his companion for help before spluttering out.

“That’s… That’s right, yes!” He gabbled, which was a shame as his accent was light, pleasant and musical. “We’re… My comp – colleague and I are here to hopefully find a dress that will fit – I-I mean, we’re here to show you what’s available! S-So sorry, so sorry, of _course_ we’ll be able to find a dress that fits you.”

Somewhat bewildered, I too turned my gaze up towards the stunning woman beside him, who smiled a dazzling smile before laying a hand on the quivering man’s shoulder, speaking to him in a rich and soothing voice.

“There there, Limoncello, the lady isn’t going to bite your head off. Ahem…” She cleared her throat. “You’re quite right, Madam Attendant, I must apologise for arriving during your working hours, but I’m afraid my services are rather highly sought after at the moment.”

“It’s… Fine, I’m really just keen to find a dress as soon as possible,” I replied with a smile, deciding to perhaps refer back to her rather than her colleague should I come up with any questions later, “it’s nice to meet you both, you can call me Nonna if you want, but… I know you all like to rigidly stick to the ‘Attendant’ thing, right?”

“If you would prefer me to call you ‘Nonna,’ then I will do so,” the woman replied with a kindly smile, reaching out to grasp my hand in both of hers, “my priority is your satisfaction as my client. My name is Hotdog, and I’ll be taking your measurements today, Nonna. Limoncello here has a catalogue of the dresses that my agency has available, once we have a measurement sheet set up for you, and have discussed preferences and any special requirements, we can go through it, which will allow you to pick the perfect dress from our selection. Does that sound alright to you?”

“It sounds straightforward at the very least,” I sighed, suddenly aware of a customer waving to me from a nearby table, “I just need to get someone to cover the floor for me, umn…”

Temporarily at a loss as to what to do, to my relief I soon caught sight of B-52 pushing his way out of the kitchen doors, his working arm laden with three plates. Would it be too much to ask if I directed him towards that customer too? Tempura was busy with another table, and as much as I hated to say it, he was far better at quickly whipping up a meal than the one-armed B-52 was. Where was Peking when I needed him? Perhaps I should consider giving him an actual salary, he did enough around here to be a supervisor, for heaven’s sake.

“B?” I called, wading my way through the tables, ignoring the waving customer’s glaring face as I passed right by her. “Do you mind taking orders for a bit? I know you don’t like being on the floor, but I shouldn’t be gone for long, and Peking could turn up at any moment.”

But B-52 didn’t reply, in fact he wasn’t even looking at me, preferring instead to stare over my head, and after following his gaze I realised that he was looking straight at Limoncello, who – to my dismay – seemed to lose any composure he’d managed to conjure up since arriving. The tall Soul all but withered under the much taller cyborg’s intense gaze, a nervous and extremely shaky smile crossing his face. But to my great surprise and despite how scared he looked, he still managed to splutter out a greeting.

“Aha… A-Alright, BiFi?” He asked, chancing a tremulous wave, the catalogue tucked under his arm almost falling to the floor as he did so. “How… How are things?”

B-52 didn’t reply, not at first, in fact he stayed as still as a statue for several moments, until a customer to his right plucked up the courage to tug at his sleeve, asking politely if she could have her plate. Visibly pulling himself together, the mechanical Food Soul hastily laid down their food before once again turning all of his attention back to Limoncello.

“Better, Limoncello.” He said, in a voice completely devoid of emotion, it was eerily similar to the tone he had always used when I’d first met him, corporate and icy. “Much better.”

Beside Limoncello, Hotdog never lost her professional, dazzling smile, and she gently placed her hand at the small of the trembling Soul’s back, steering him past the staring cyborg, nodding to him as she walked.

“Nonna? May I ask where you would like to be measured? Certainly not in this crowded dining room.”

“Oh umn…” I glanced about, and immediately gestured towards the stockroom. “I-In there, it’s a supply room, but there’s enough space in there for the three of us. Make yourselves comfortable! I just need to sort some things out with my staff before I can join you, um, I can make some tea if you’d like?”

“That would be greatly appreciated.” Hotdog chirped, continuing to half push, half guide the stammering Limoncello away from B-52. “We’ll be waiting for you, Nonna, but don’t worry, there’s no rush.”

As they disappeared, I looked up into B-52’s face, hoping for an answer, but the gigantic man wasn’t looking at me, in fact – to my relief – he had turned towards the still waving customer, but I couldn’t leave without seeing if he was alright, but the gentle pull I gave to his sleeve caused him to turn sharply, his working eye narrowed with annoyance.

“Yes, Master?” He asked, and though his voice was professional, there was a definite, irritated edge there, even I could tell that he wasn’t having the best time, so I stepped back a little, raising my palms as per usual.

“I just wanted to ask if you were okay,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, “I can call Peking if you would like, I’ll check where he is.”

“There is no need.” B-52 replied, turning away. “Go, they’re waiting for you.”

With that, he moved away, leaving me thoroughly regretting the decision to talk to him. I knew, deep down that this wasn’t just down to the appearance of Limoncello – who he clearly had known and worked with – this was related to my treatment of him in the past week too. We needed to talk, even if I didn’t know what to say, there was clearly quite a lot bothering him, and perhaps just sitting him down to talk wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

But what on earth was I going to offer as an explanation for my behaviour? I thought as I turned gloomily towards the stockroom. That I couldn’t show him as much warmth as I wanted to because he reminded me too much of arguably the most important person in my life? He couldn’t help the way he looked, but I could help the way I thought. Yes, we needed to talk, and soon. 

-

Trying to focus on my appointment and keeping the tray I held in my hands steady simultaneously, I pushed open the door to the stockroom to find Hotdog and Limoncello talking pleasantly, though the latter’s relaxed tone of voice immediately changed to his usual stammering upon seeing me.

“So… Generous of you,” he mumbled, taking a teacup from me with an unsteady hand, “I apologise in advance if I bump into you at any point, Madam Attendant, this room is rather cluttered.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said with a sigh, handing Hotdog her tea, which she took with a polite nod of her head, “I haven’t really had the time to sort through this room. I’m going to at some point, God only knows what I’ll find in here.”

“W-Well, I can safely say that it’s the most unusual supply room I’ve ever encountered,” Limoncello replied with a nervous little laugh, “I… I think I even saw a blowtorch a second ago, of all things to find in a restaurant.”

“You’d be surprised just how useful a tool like that can be when preparing food,” Hotdog interjected, taking a hearty sip of tea before setting the cup aside, leaving a bright red curve of lipstick staining the white porcelain, “now then, Nonna, normally I ask clients what type of dress or suit they’re looking for, so lets start with that. Do you have any preferences as to colour, decoration or style?”

As she spoke, Limoncello brought out his catalogue and balanced it atop his knees, easily the most confident thing he had done, if it weren’t for him nearly knocking over his teacup in the process. I winced, I really didn’t have many cups as it was, without him breaking one.

“Not really, I just…” I paused, uncomfortably aware of a hot prickling that slowly but surely began to start up around the back of my neck, trailing down to my shoulder blades and upper back. “… I just don’t really want a backless dress, that’s all, actually no I don’t want a backless dress full stop, o-or one that shows off my neck either.” 

I turned to Hotdog, a little worried and struggling to find the words, how exactly could I go about saying this? She was already looking at me strangely, something that made the prickling heat spike in its intensity.

“Haven’t got anything that covers _everything_ do you?” I asked with a small, desperate laugh. Hotdog, still with that curious expression on her face, soon nodded and moved around me to sit beside Limoncello, lifting the catalogue from his knees, much to his relief.

“We do indeed, Nonna, and before we go any further, I should ask you to please tell me if you require any absolutely specific requirements for your dress. I am aware that you may not want to talk about them in front of a stranger, and your comfort is my absolute priority, but I would much rather you discuss your needs with me so that I can sell you a dress that you feel absolutely comfortable in. Does that sound alright?”

It did, but that didn’t stop me from deflating a little under her gaze, of course she was quite right, if I stayed cryptic and vague, I’d probably end up wearing something that would show off far more than I would like, and in front of Spaghetti’s crowd, that was something I absolutely could not do. Hotdog may have been a stranger, and I may have spent my entire time in Tierra in long sleeved, high-necked shirts, but even I could appreciate that this was a situation wherein I _needed_ to be brave, even if it was just for a half hour.

“I have… Scars,” I said lamely, gesturing to the back of my neck, the palms of my hands immediately growing clammy, “burns, a-all over my neck and my upper back. They’re still sort of healing actually, bits of them anyway, e-even though I got them quite a few years ago. They’re not pretty to look at basically, so if it’s possible, I need a dress that has the same sort of coverage as this shirt I’m wearing under my blouse. That’s doable, right? I don’t really mind if I end up buying a dress that doesn’t look good, I just don’t want any of my upper body on show, at all. Not… Not at a ball like this.”

Limoncello looked a little lost for words, and he sent a scared glance across to Hotdog, who – in stark contrast to him – was rifling her way through the catalogue, her tongue between her perfect teeth. A few seconds passed, in which the sound of rustling paper was the only noise to fill the room, until at long last, the glamorous Food Soul leant forward, a page kept open with her thumb.

“How about something like this, then?” She asked kindly, letting me take the catalogue. “You shouldn’t be worried about the dress not looking good on you, Nonna, everyone has different preferences, and this one is actually very popular with ladies your age this season. It’s cold outside after all.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t really hearing her, for the dress she had pointed out to me was absolutely stunning, to my utmost surprise. Though I would’ve had to have made a deal with the devil to look like the model wearing it, the dress itself was gorgeous, a flowing display of delicate blue fabric, so delicate that though the model was motionless, it seemed to carry its own movement. But the most important thing about it was its high collar, held together by a smattering of tiny, neat buttons, and its long, flowing sleeves. I could hardly believe my luck, most of the dresses that I had worn in my lifetime had been stiff and frumpy, with me placing the importance of hiding my scars above making myself look good, but this dress was nothing like any garment I’d worn before.

“I’m afraid that this dress isn’t our cheapest option,” Hotdog was saying, smiling softly, “but I can see how much you like it, and since you’re only intending to wear it for a night, I think its worth a try, don’t you, Nonna? I have a few more options if…”

“N-No, no, no I…” I began, but stopped as I realised just how wobbly my voice had become, I took a moment, “I love this one. It isn’t at all how I imagined a dress like this to be, the colour is just right too! I know I might be jumping the gun a little, but I’m being honest when I say that this is _perfect_ for me.”

Limoncello chanced me a goofy smile, apparently still lost for words, but Hotdog looked very pleased indeed, and she pressed her palms together before her face, almost as if she were praying.

“You have such a lovely smile, Nonna, has anyone ever told you that? Most people here – I think – have lost their ability to smile genuinely, but yours lights up your whole face. There truly is something very beautiful about you, if you don’t mind me saying, it’s a pleasure to see you so happy.”

Beside her, Limoncello finally let out a proper laugh, and in a display of uncharacteristic confidence, he leant towards me, speaking behind his hand and pretending to whisper.

“Careful, Madam Attendant, or she might just paint a portrait of you.”

“Don’t tempt me, Limoncello,” Hotdog laughed, placing a hand atop her chest as if to steady herself, “she would be a wonderful subject. But of course, there’s the issue of time too, I haven’t really had the chance to get out my easel since all of this mess with the Fallen. Such a shame…”

In spite of my bad mood that morning, I now found that the sourness had melted away, and even felt my face stretching slowly into a smile of my own. There was something deeply comforting about Hotdog, the way she composed herself, how she talked, her enthusiasm truly was infectious, and as she got to her feet with a tape measure in her hand, I found that I now had no qualms about her measuring me, not if that dress was the result.

“To business then,” she laughed in that rich voice, “we will have you looking like the Belle of the ball, Nonna, I promise you.”

I found that my day ran far, far smoother after they had left.

-

Like most nights, I decided to go to bed early, but _unlike_ most nights, I found that I couldn’t sleep, in spite of how tired I had been that morning. It was infuriating really, how I could sleepwalk through an entire day, and then find myself wide-awake upon going to bed.

Grumbling to myself, I rolled over so I could whack my pillow into a slightly more comfortable position before settling down again, trying once more to coax myself into drifting off. However, my eyes soon cracked open again, faced with the grim sight of B-52’s wings propped up against the opposite wall, their spindly structure casting ghostly shadows all around the room from the light filtering in front outside. 

How the Hell I was going to fix them was a complete mystery to me, I realised suddenly, alone in the dark with nothing but my deepest thoughts for company. It was horrible to admit to myself, but I had made B-52 a promise that I couldn’t keep; Yan’er had been quite right, I had no hope of fixing someone as complicated as him. I sighed into the soft sheets of my bed, my eyes heavy, yet I still couldn’t fall asleep, the prospect of admitting defeat was a nasty one, the massive cyborg was frustrated enough with me as it was, learning that he would have to wait longer to be repaired could be catastrophic to our already strained relationship. 

Filled with guilt and unease, I nevertheless allowed my eyes to slip closed again, and to my relief, I soon felt the heavy blanket of sleep descending upon me, coating me in black, bringing with it the promise of a good night’s sleep.

Until _something_ flashed outside my window, and I found myself sitting bolt upright in bed, annoyed and a little scared. What the hell was that? Fireworks? God, let it be fireworks, I didn’t think I could take any more attacks from the Fallen, things were bad enough already. As I sat trussed up in my bed sheets, the flash came again, bright purple against the murky blue of the trees lining the restaurant, I frowned, I _knew_ that purple.  
Though most of my brain was gently urging me to stay in bed, curiosity triumphed, and soon enough I was creeping across to the window, allowing myself to peer over the windowsill so that I could draw back if I saw something I didn’t like. 

That turned out to be a very wise decision, as what happened next almost knocked me off of my feet.

With a resounding **’FWOOM’** a column of purple flame shot up and past my window, illuminating the entirety of my room as it went. Terrified, I scurried back to my bed with a yelp, my heart jumping wildly in my chest and my hands scrambling around for something to grab hold of. I’d been right, I _did_ know those flames, but why B-52 Cocktail had been possessed to test out his cane in the dead of night was completely beyond me.  
Though I could feel the nausea creeping up my stomach, I slunk back to the window for another look, and this time I managed to catch sight of the scene below without risk of my eyebrows being singed.

Up and down the grassy bank outside the back of the restaurant, B-52 was pacing angrily, or as angrily as he could with the limp that the Fallen had left him with. In his hand he held his cane, which still sparked and spun gently with power, threatening to once again light up the night sky with purple flames. I barely had time to brace myself before he turned sharply, the long metal tube twirling gracefully in his hand for a split second until another jet of fire was released, then another, and another! I sank down below the windowsill with a shaky exhalation of breath, wondering what on earth had brought this on and why the Hell he’d thought it was a good idea to practice his skills alongside a mostly _wooden_ restaurant. Was he mad? 

There was more commotion now, a hiss and a thud of something hitting the grass, and as I peeked above the windowsill yet again, I saw him stumble and almost fall, apparently his injured leg wasn’t yet strong enough to completely support his weight. Unfortunately, this seemed to make him even angrier, as with a cry of pure frustration, he spun back around, hurling his cane off into the trees before allowing himself to crumple, his joints groaning in protest as he fell against the grass, steam rising in clouds from his quivering frame.

It was a horrible sight to see.

Forgetting about the flames, I hurled myself across the room to grab my duvet from the bed before tearing down the stairs and into the dining room. Even if he wasn’t happy with me, he was still my Food Soul, and I couldn’t just leave him outside like that, the very least I could do was let him know that I was there for him.

The scene outside was even worse than the one I’d seen from the window, B-52 was hunched into a ball on the ground, his engines roaring and his fists clenched around him, as if he were trying to hold himself together. I really, really didn't want to approach him, but I trudged my way through the grass anyway, reaching out a hand and preparing to spring back should he try to take a swipe at me.

“B-52?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the noise pouring from him, I had to choose my words carefully, one foot wrong and I could find myself thrown into a tree. “Do… Do you want to come inside? It’s cold out here, I can make you some tea if you’d like?”

Really, it was a useless thing to offer, I’d never even seen him drink water, let alone tea, but for whatever reason it was the only thing I could think to say. However after a few moments, and to my great surprise, B-52 pulled himself up into a sitting position, slack-jawed and heavy-eyed, but alert enough to nod his head slowly, a slow and exhausted jet of steam leaving his body with a hiss.

“Where’s your cane?” I asked the tired cyborg, though I hesitated to let him find it again, that thing was my absolute worst nightmare, but I remembered just how happy he had seemed to receive it back, and thought it best to stow my fears aside for now. “You threw it into the trees right? Um… T-Tell you what, I’ll get it if you want and you can go inside, okay?”

He nodded solemnly again, and I sped off to the trees before he had a chance to protest, though as I began to search I soon heard that groaning of metal once again, and I turned my head just in time to see him slinking back into the restaurant, his shoulders hunched and his face almost completely hidden by his scarf.  
I prodded about through the grass, trying to remember where he’d thrown his cane, thinking that perhaps I should rush back inside to fetch my torch, until the moon emerged from behind a cloud above my head, and a glitter of metal somewhere to my right soon told me exactly where to find the cane.

I picked it up gingerly, tentatively, as if it would bite me, and there was quite a strong chance that it would, or at least there was a chance that it would _hurt_ me. I had no idea how it worked after all, it looked for all the world like a normal metal tube, completely devoid of the gears and the flames B-52 always managed to summon from it. For a moment, I stared at it curiously, wondering just how it all worked, before I mentally shook myself out of my reverie, I didn’t _want_ to know, the further this thing was away from me, the better.

By the time I’d finished with the tea, I could see that B-52 had calmed down a little, but he still didn’t look his best, it was obvious in the way he sat hunched upon his usual crate, his knees drawn up to his chest, his half-ruined face sat glumly atop them. He barely reacted when I offered him his tea, preferring instead to reach out his working hand, take the cup and swallow the whole thing in one, the liquid sloshed audibly down his throat as it went down, and as I took back his cup, I had to stop myself from _squirming_ in discomfort.

“Okay…” I began, sitting down opposite him, holding my own cup in my slightly quivering hands, wondering how best to talk with him. “Look, B… I know we haven’t really been happy with each other as of late, but I’m worried about you, e-especially after what I saw out there. You’re frustrated, right? You're angry, and I don't want to see you like this anymore, so talk to me, B, I want to know if there’s anything I can do… What’s wrong?”

He didn’t reply, much to my dismay, in fact my questions seemed to make him withdraw even further as his head dropped back down onto his knees, more steam leaking from his sides, I caught a sudden whiff of earl grey. 

“I… Okay, I know how hard it is for you to talk about stuff like this, but you’ve done it before, a-and you know you can come to me to talk whenever you want, right? I made a contract with you, so… I’m here, okay?”

This wasn’t right, I knew it wasn’t, I had spent this last week avoiding him for heaven’s sake, I’d gone over my options again and again in my head, and time after time I had concluded that _not_ getting attached to B-52 was the best for the both of us. But seeing him like this was just too much to bear, and as I’d reasoned with myself previously, the way I felt wasn’t his fault and should not be punished for it. As much as I didn’t like it, I had to be firm with myself, for his sake.

“Um… Is it the invitation?” I asked quietly, hoping that a prompt would lead to conversation. “O-Or the blueprints I got from Yan’er? I… A-Actually remember you saying that you weren’t okay with those a while ago, but I must’ve forgotten to follow it up with you, I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about it now?”

“I don’t know…” He finally replied, though the fabric of his trousers muffled his voice.

That wasn’t a good sign, but I pressed on nonetheless, I didn’t want to sit here like this all night, I had to begin setting up the restaurant in a few, measly hours.

“Um, w-what about that guy who came in with Hotdog?” I asked, searching around in my brain for his name. “Lemon… Limoncello? I guess it must’ve been weird for you to see someone from Spaghetti’s estate. Did you work with him? Is that why you’re all shaken up?”

 _”I don’t know!”_ He shouted suddenly, so loudly that I had to fight back the temptation to put my hands over my ears, my chest suddenly ablaze with panic. Upstairs, I heard a thump and a muffled curse, and wondered if perhaps Tempura had been jolted awake or perhaps even out of bed by the noise. I hoped against hope that he wouldn’t come downstairs to investigate, no doubt he would assume B-52 was trying to attack me again, and the last thing I wanted was more tension to flare up between the two.

“O-Okay, okay,” I said shakily, getting to my feet and holding my hands out before me to protect myself, “it’s fine if you don’t know, but…”

“I’m not programmed to _know,”_ B-52 groaned, his working hand tugging viciously at his hair, “I cannot perform if I am not _told,_ Master. Making my own decisions is detrimental to the service I am able to give you, I cannot continue on like this! I have tried because I know you _want_ me to try, but please I’m begging of you, _tell me_ how you want me to feel, so that I can function properly again.”

All I could do was stare at him, a feeling of helplessness welling up within me as his head dropped down yet again, jets of steam flying in all directions, surrounding him with an odd, ghostly haze. I had to say something to him, despite everything that had happened, this wasn’t a situation that I could just walk away from, B-52 had made too much progress for me to shy away from him now.

“B… That’s.” I began, uncomfortably aware of how dry my throat had become, I swallowed thickly and tried again.

“That’s… All part of being human.” I mumbled out, my words slow and deliberate, so that neither of us could mishear what I was saying. “H-Humans make decisions all the time, a-and more often than not those decisions will be pretty tough ones. Some humans take it for granted, I think, how th… H-How _we_ have the freedom to make our own choices, and to form our own thoughts and feelings, you know?”

He didn’t answer, my words hadn’t been enough, and the room was once again filled with silence, broken only occasionally by the grunting snores of Tempura from above us.

“B-52, listen, please?” I implored him, creeping forwards with my arm outstretched, hoping perhaps to lay my hand on his shoulder or maybe even… No, no way. _“I_ sometimes wish that someone would just tell me what to do too, honest to God I do. Having responsibilities and making your own choices is ridiculously hard work sometimes. It’s emotionally taxing even for me and I understand why it’s overwhelming for you, you’ve always had someone giving you orders, right?”

“It is what I am made to do.” B-52 repeated, not looking up. “I function best when I am given an order, Master.”

“Says who? Spaghetti?” I asked, a little exasperated now, and finally my hand found a place on his knee as I knelt in front of him. “I, for one, can’t see any difference between how you function normally and how you function when given an order.”

Again there was no response, nothing apart from that uneasy whirring that had once again started up deep within his chest. What was that? I had wondered time and time again; was it his heart? A fan? Whatever it was, I knew that its presence meant that he was frustrated, scared, on guard, I had heard that fretful noise all too often and yet still I couldn’t find a solution with which to calm him, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in feeling like this. That he wasn’t alone in being _afraid_ of feeling.

I sat back from him with my feet tucked beneath me, a serious debate raging on and on inside my head. I had sworn to myself that upon arriving in Tierra, I would be known for my job and nothing else, and that I would be as inconspicuous as possible, avoid drawing attention to myself in any way, shape or form, and to keep my head firmly down. That’s what I had been told to do as well, by as many people as I cared to remember; I was to stay quiet and aim to keep a constant low profile, both for my own safety and freedom.  
But then again, the fiasco with Spaghetti had somehow, miraculously passed over my head, I’d even gained an advisor out of it for God’s sake, and though I hated to think of it now, nothing had come of my talk with Zhouyun either. Would it really be so risky to just talk in private with someone who I knew was not fond of gossip? I couldn’t order B-52 not to relay any of what I said to anyone else, but I could _ask_ him not to, and for him I was sure that that would be enough.

I took a breath, and much like the incident with the invitation, chose to act within a split second.

“B. Let me tell you about my relationship with my father.”

Once more there was silence, but after a while I saw an electric blue eye suddenly peek out from a gap between those spindly, metal fingers. It glowed brightly in the half-darkness of the stockroom, brightly, curiously.

Another breath.

“When I was growing up, he… W-Well, he basically ruled my life with an iron fist.” I said, shrugging a shoulder to make it seem as though it was nothing, really I was too preoccupied with considering my words, for even the slightest slip up on my part would lead to awkward questions later. “He was a military man, you see, and he placed discipline above all else. That isn’t to say that he didn’t love me, and I’m _not_ about to compare him to Spaghetti, but he wasn’t very good with children. I learned pretty early on in life that I had to grow up quickly in order to follow the routines he kept me in. I don’t think he ever properly grasped the concept of being a parent, he didn’t really know anything besides how to train a soldier, so…”

“Is that how you were able to defeat the Fallen in the catacombs?”

Caught off guard, I choked on my words, though I noted with some relief that B-52 had finally raised his head, his face filled with a strange look, one almost bordering on hope. Moments passed without either of us speaking, though he eventually realised that he had surprised me, for he cleared his throat with a guttural sound and started again.

“In the catacombs, you used Brownie’s cannon to defeat that Fallen that attacked us. The skills you used were exceptional, Master Attendant.”

“We’re not talking about that, though.” I said gruffly, hoping that the bite of warning in my voice would scare him enough to drop the subject, but he continued on regardless.

“Forgive me, Master, but humans tend to react similarly to the Fallen,” B-52 said, “I have seen them either scream, run, or die as is the result in most cases, but your reaction was different. For example, you assessed your options and used the weaponry available to you, though your situation was dire, you took the time to think about what you were going to do, and how best to use the tools you had on hand. In addition to that, you displayed anger, adrenaline, I believe you may have even uttered a battle cry. I have very rarely seen a human take advantage of their emotions before, especially not to use a weapon unfamiliar to them. Moreover…”

He leaned a little closer to me and from where I knelt on the floor, I was yet again made aware of just how ridiculous the height difference between us was. He really was big enough to completely flatten me, or to pick me up and snap me in half as if I were a dry twig, it was a rather horrid thing to realise, and yet the expression he wore was nowhere near as fierce as his body language, in fact it was far gentler than any I’d seen him wear before.

“If your father was a military man, that all makes sense. You are skilled with firearms, Master Attendant, I do not understand why you seem so reluctant to use those skills.”

“Well you didn’t let me finish,” I said, annoyed, “B, the reason why I was telling you about my father was because _I_ had to learn how to make my own decisions too. Granted, you’re a little more worse off than me, but it _can be done,_ sure it’s difficult and you feel like throwing in the towel most of the time, but it’s worth it, and it’s _possible!”_

“But if you were to hone your skills…”

I stood up from where I sat, thoroughly irritated, this was _not_ how I’d wanted this conversation to go, but of course, I’d been the one who had lit the fuse on the bomb by mentioning my father, and I had a horrible feeling that I now had no choice but to watch it explode.

“Listen, B-52. The reason why I never want to so much as _look_ at a gun again unless it’s absolutely necessary is because of the memories they bring back for me. I loved my father, really I did, but guns were his life, they took him over. Guns and conflict and _war_ were the only things that ever truly interested him, and ironically enough, those were also the things that killed him.”

B-52 had fallen silent, and for that I was grateful, with a sigh I collapsed back into my chair, my leg bouncing anxiously, wondering if I had made yet another big mistake by choosing to relay more information about myself to people that – on the whole – I barely knew.

“I don’t want to end up like him, B, that’s all.” I said quietly, aware that perhaps I’d been a little too snappy with him. “Because at one point, I _was_ like him, I was practically his clone. I was a fanatic too, I was obsessed with the military and what I could do with a gun, and you’re right in saying that my skills are exceptional because they _were_ and they probably still are, but…”

“Did you ever kill?”

I choked again, completely unprepared for that kind of question, and almost on instinct I folded into myself, my head bowing and my shoulders hunching, my stomach knotting itself into a tangled mess of nerves and fear. I wasn’t going to answer that, I didn’t have to, he couldn’t _force_ me to!

“I see.”

“Don’t _assume,”_ I hissed at him, forcing myself not to bare my teeth at him, “God damn, who just asks a question like that!?”

“I have killed too.” He went on, ignoring the utterly furious look I was giving him. “With my bare hands, with the fire from my cane, I was ordered to kill on numerous occasions by Spaghetti to end the lives of the people he feuded with, I didn’t question it at the time because it was all I knew. But I think things are different now, I _want_ them to be different.”

The cyborg fixed me with his one-eyed stare, watching almost with concern as I refused to move from my balled-up position.

“Master Attendant, if I am to allow you to help me with my vices, please allow me to do the same for you.”

“But I’m not like you, B…” I said softly, finally raising my head a tad to look up at him. “You _want_ to continue on using your skills and I want nothing more to do with fighting.”

“Not at the moment, perhaps,” he replied, a sudden and rather surprising smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “but… Ah, yes. Like you said to me; _'it can be done.'_ Can’t it?”

At his words, it all abruptly, miraculously fell into place, like pieces to the perfect puzzle.

Suddenly swamped with a deluge of realisations, I leant forward to cradle my head in my hands, trying to work it all out before it completely overwhelmed me. Of course, of _course!_ It all made sense! I may not have liked the way it sounded, but it would’ve been downright hypocritical of me to refuse help from B-52 when I was so adamant that he should accept mine. _Obviously_ I didn’t want to pick up a gun _right now_ just like B-52 didn’t want to let himself feel _right now_ but as long as there was willing, as long as there was a _desire_ to change and a desire to grow, maybe, just maybe change could occur… 

My brain was working at twice its normal speed, and as I sat there in the gloom, I flashed back to my time with my father, and the adrenaline that always flooded me whenever I trained with him. It hurt to think back to now, and to the realisation that he had more than likely seen me as just another soldier, but there was something else there too, a feeling of warmth in my stomach, a _longing_ almost… At that moment I knew, that despite the things I had said, and despite every step I had made to purge everything my father had taught me from my life, there was still a part of me that wanted to go back, to see if I had retained everything he had shown me.

He had been proud of me, after all, he had been horrendous at showing it, but that pride was there.

“I’m… Afraid, B,” I sighed, it was all I could come up with, “that’s all. I’m not saying that it can’t be done, but whether _I_ myself will be able to do it is another problem entirely.”

“I think I am afraid too, Master.” B-52 replied, sitting back in his makeshift chair. “But I am sure of one thing, if I may?”

“Go on?”

B-52 leant forwards, his eye angled downwards and that small ghost of a smile once again gracing his features, I felt my heart steadily rising up in my throat, and fought to swallow it back down.

“I would like to fly again,” he said, his tone soft, almost loving, “even if you find repairing the rest of me to be too ah… _Taxing_ for you, given how strenuous your working day is. I would appreciate it if my wings were repaired, I am fond of flying, very… Very fond of flying.”

It was as if someone had flipped a switch in my head, or like the sun was beating down onto my body, melting away the snow and the gloom cast upon me by Gloriville’s merciless winter, in a fraction of a second almost, the smile B-52 wore had somehow, completely rejuvenated me. I sat buzzing in my chair, suddenly eager to seize those blueprints and _force_ myself to work, push myself to get those wings working, it suddenly seemed far, far clearer to me than it had done all week. Not much of the original structure was missing after all, the framework could be tapped, bent, teased, perhaps even moulded back into shape, and as for the fabric… Oh _God,_ hadn’t a great big stack of fabric kept in my wardrobe been one of the very first things I had found upon arriving here?

As I sat there, suddenly alight with motivation, B-52 sank a little lower in his chair, the light in his working eye dulling a little as he went.

“Steam engine p… I ah… I’m a little tired, Master Attendant.” He said softly, his chin drooping down onto his chest. “I may have over exerted myself…”

“Do you want me to top you up?” I asked, getting to my feet, but I was surprised to see a shake of his head, and a sleepy flick of his wrist, a clear decline of my offer.

“No, no… But I may no longer be… Much for conversation.” He huffed, his voice dropping alarmingly until it was almost a full octave deeper than it had been before. “It… Can wait…”

Seeing him lagging like this wasn't the easiest sight in the world to see, but he had said to leave him, and leave him was what I did. After a while, he had settled against the wall of the stockroom, his face slack and the usual uneasy whirring in his chest reduced to a slow, steady purr. Was he snoring? He almost sounded like a cat, a creature that I never would’ve thought to compare him to.  
I hauled myself out of my chair, oddly touched by how peaceful he looked, and before I could stop myself, I had moved toward him to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, my knuckles just brushing the skin of his forehead.

“Sleep well.” I soothed as I turned to go, but abruptly found myself distracted by an object sitting atop one of the higher boxes. It took me a while to figure out what it was, but once I did, I found myself immediately rooted to the spot, a deadly mixture of apprehension and fear swirling around my head.

It was the blowtorch Limoncello had mentioned earlier, sitting in a ray of moonlight, glimmering sinisterly; almost daring me to pick it up. I swallowed, thinking back to the burst of inspiration I’d had mere moments ago. As much as it scared me to admit it, B-52’s wings _needed_ a tool like that, and of course it just _had_ to be a tool who’s function was the very last thing I wanted to use. I knew that I would regret it if I took it, in fact every last ounce of sense within my body was screaming at me to leave it, but the fact that B-52 had asked me specifically to repair his wings would not leave me. I’d never seen him fly, yet I found that I would quite like to. 

God, what was I doing? What was I doing? _What the **Hell** was I doing?_

With a shudder that ripped through me like an electric shock, I reached up to snatch the tool from atop the box, staring down at it cautiously, a definite feeling of nausea beginning to coil inside my stomach. I didn’t have the correct safety equipment to use this, I didn’t have gloves, I didn’t even have goggles, but what I _did_ have was something that had been missing all damn week, I had the _motivation,_ and I somehow knew that if I chickened out now, I wouldn’t have an ounce of it left in the morning.

In the end, all it took for me was one, last glance back towards B-52’s sleeping figure, before I had raced from the stockroom and back upstairs to my room. 

I was no doubt the most unintelligent person alive in Gloriville at that moment, but if my stupidity paid off and B-52 could fly again, I could maybe, _somehow_ live with that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Nonna:_ "Oh! I cannot reveal anything about myself! The mysteries of this story rely upon it!"
> 
>  _Also Nonna:_ //overshares immediately to a gigantic, unstable cyborg who's tried to kill her twice.
> 
> I hate her tfuygihugiyfu bUT ANYWAY UM,,, We're _super_ close to the main event of the story, hh boy... I think all it will take is one more chapter and perhaps one more little interval before the Main Shit goes down. And for everyone who's reading this fanfiction, and has stuck with me all the way, I apologise for Nonna's continued moping, I _promise_ that the reasons as to why are going to be good.
> 
> Once again!! Thank you all for reading.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna iS forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

_It was hot,_ too _hot. She’d always complained to the staff here that they kept the thermostat up far too high._

_The tension rapidly building inside the stuffy, richly decorated room was doing nothing to help the already balmy temperature, but despite her discomfort, she was determined to make her case and make it _loudly_ for all to hear.  
It was a shame really; for up until now this room had been used for nothing but pleasantries. Afternoon tea, reading by the low, homely light of the lamps, talking quietly in amongst themselves, theorising about what would happen to them and the world, and whether or not their fates would be linked. _

_But now, all of that cosy warmth had vanished, replaced instead by an angry, prickly heat, stirred up by the words exchanged by her and the poor man she had backed into a corner._

_“Say that again.” She said, her voice low and icy, her hands held in fists by her side. “One more time, just so I can get the gist of it before I knock you silly.”_

_“Nonna…” Came a voice from somewhere behind her, a voice that kept a slow and deliberate tempo, yet there was anger there, bubbling just beneath the surface. “Lets not resort to petty threats, you are far better than that. Let Mister Bagrov say what he has to say.”_

_The man, Bagrov, gulped wetly, adjusting his tie slightly with trembling fingers, though it was clear to anyone watching that he was quite tempted to untie it completely should the woman before him choose to strangle him with it._

_“I know how… How restrictive it all sounds, but you really must understand me, Miss M…”_

_“Call me Nonna, for God’s sake. I don’t do formalities anymore, especially not here.”_

_“Nonna, then,” Bagrov continued, mopping his sweaty brow with a crumpled handkerchief pulled from his pocket, “I understand that you may not like this proposal, but it really is for the best! Look at what you have here compared to the state of the rest of the world. You have resources, food, water, lodgings… There’s a damned_ croquet _pitch in the grounds, for goodness sake!”_

_“A gilded cage.” She snapped, stamping her foot and causing the man before her to cower away almost comically. “That’s all it is! I couldn’t care less about croquet or anything else you want to give us, we want our freedom! It’s been months! Need I remind you that your association promised us that this whole thing would only be temporary?”_

_“Things weren’t as bad back then as they are now, Nonna,_ please _understand,” Bagrov cried, wringing his hands, “understand and believe me when I say that this is our last resort. You are all too important to us, you’re all too great to…”_

 _“Exactly, we’re_ too great, _so let us take on those monsters ourselves!” Came her frustrated reply, her own hands clenching into fists, yearning to sink a punch into the quivering messenger. “We’ve lost people, I know we have, and it’s been a shock to us but we’re not defenceless! We’re far from it, and I for one am sick of you lot treating us all like children who need_ monitoring!” __

_“That’s enough, Nonna.”_

_She felt a hand atop her shoulder, a heavy and imposing one, the sensation made her fall silent immediately with a curt nod of her head and a murmured apology, so quiet that it was almost lost in the wheezing coming from Bagrov. Behind her, that voice spoke out again, but she could hear it more clearly now, that anger; steadily becoming harder and harder to hide._

_“While my, ah…_ Methods _are far less bold than Nonna’s, I have to say she is speaking my mind,” the voice rumbled, a low, thrumming vibration that seemed to fill the whole room, sinking into the wooden foundations, leaving a near constant echo, “we cannot stay like this, Bagrov, your proposal to extend our say here is one that I wholeheartedly reject. I understand completely that your intentions are good, and we thank you for everything that you and your organisation have done for us, but this place… This_ prison _is not our home, and nor will it become our home.”_

_Bagrov let out a shuddering breath, one clogged and torn with a clear case of asthma, but he struggled on, apparently desperate to get his point across._

_“I am sorry that you feel this way about the place, but I am also afraid that for the time being it will have to be, a-and should you choose to object to this decision, then we will have no…_ No _choice but to use the gates.”_

_Silence fell, and a horrid, harsh, ringing soon filled up the whole room, fogging coherent thought, rendering its occupants almost speechless. It seemed as though the two before Bagrov were thinking the same thing; adding everything up; coming to the same gut-wrenching conclusion._

_“These gates are designed to keep out those beasts, not to keep_ us _in,_ Yuriy.” _Came that rumbling voice once again, hushed and low, a deadly whisper. “As Nonna said, this was not what we agreed to. I have been very accepting and willing to entertain your terms, but these terms are_ not _the ones that you stated to me when we first arrived. You gave them to me in writing when I arrived here, for_ fuck’s _sake.”_

_“I-I am afraid that we really do have no other option available to us,” Bagrov was wheezing again, terror prominent in every syllable, “it isn’t just you, old friend, e-everyone else will be subjected to this protocol until the threat has been dealt with! Please, don’t make my job harder for me, all myself and my staff have ever truly wanted is to keep you safe!”_

_“By locking us away?”_

_“By keeping you alive, for God’s sake! You know – of course you_ know _\- better than anyone that if you go, we all go. I am thoroughly aware that while you may not want any part in this, it is nevertheless the safest option for you, and if you co operate and let us get on with our research, it will also be a temporary option.”_

_Silence yet again, broken only by Bagrov’s laboured breathing, and soon the gentle ‘clink’ of a glass of water being poured; apparently his fellow occupants had decided to be merciful, at least for now._

_“Yet our mental states are irrelevant in this, I suppose.” That rumble sounded, but it wavered now, though whether it was out of sorrow or anger was impossible to tell. “We stay safe and alive, while our brains_ rot. _Is this another plan of yours, Bagrov?”_

 _Bagrov took a few, huge swigs of water, perspiration still shining upon his face, giving him the rather unpleasant look of a toad gulping wetly, faced with a large and very hungry cat. He looked at a complete loss as to how he should respond, and despite the anger still circulating in the air; the other two couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. But their sympathy was limited,_ very _limited._

 _“Your brains are… E-Easy to recover,” he spoke, slow and hoarse, yet nonetheless coherent, “you said that to me yourself, but should you fall prey to those creatures, your bodies will_ not _be.”_

_At that, all conversation died, the normally loud and opinionated pair that stood before the poor man now seemed completely unable to talk. All of a sudden, the room didn’t seem so homely to them anymore, and for the first time since arriving here, they noticed the shabby rugs, the small dents and marks in the coffee table, the way the light bulbs above flickered every now and again. This place hadn’t been built to last, the faux grandeur that had fooled them when they’d first arrived was now falling apart, showing itself for what it truly was. Of course, they’d all been fools to think it would last, Bagrov’s organisation was good, but like everyone else these days, they were running low on funds, a rushed job was all they could do, it was all anyone could do._

_“I… Have to go,” Bagrov wheezed, turning sharply to tug open the door behind him, as if one of the two would kill him should he stay in the room too long, “once again, I am sorry, but everything we do here is for your benefit. We have had to make tough choices, but I promise you that it is all for you, it’s_ always _been for you.”_

_Once again the room fell quiet, the uncomfortable hush broken only by the sound of Bagrov’s footsteps retreating quickly down the corridor, fleeing for his life almost.  
Breathless and quaking ever so slightly, her hand reached out to close the door behind him, the _’click’_ it made as it shut echoed horribly around the room. She heard a creak from behind her, and a series of thudding footsteps upon the carpeted floor, an agitated and angry sound._

_Still alight with fear and the dawning realisation that the both of them were now definite prisoners, Noyabrina Olegovna almost jumped out of her skin as she turned just in time to witness her superior plunge a gigantic fist into the coffee table with a roar of frustration. The force was incredible and felt as if it shook the entire room, the table had no chance, the vigour of his blow split the wood completely in half, sending splinters, silverware and half-empty coffee cups flying in all directions._

-

“Miss Attendant?”

I woke up with a shuddering intake of breath and immediately glanced down at my arms, oddly panic-stricken. For a split second, my eyes projected a mass of raw, angry burns across my palms and fingers, until I blinked and the ailments vanished completely, not even leaving so much as a trace. I shivered, suddenly aware of how drained and _emotional_ I felt, I hadn’t had that vivid of a dream for quite some time, and about _that_ place of all things.

There was someone else in the room, I could tell by the soft vibration of their voice, but it took me a while to properly acknowledge them. My brain seemed to be working at a far slower pace than usual, what _had_ I been doing before I’d fallen asleep? Why had I suddenly dreamt about…

“Miss Attendant? Are you alright?”

Peking’s voice, there was no mistaking that gentle croon, and absolutely no mistaking the careful, tapered finger that slid its way under my chin, coaxing me to look up into its owner’s hypnotising eyes. Peking was wearing a strange expression, his usually carefully managed composure was definitely there, but something seemed off about it today. Perhaps it was the dark circles that yet again surrounded his eyes; whatever it was, I pulled away from him nonetheless, my skin prickling with gooseflesh. 

“Morning… Ah, morning, Peking,” I sighed, raising my arms above my head in a stretch, several of my joints popped uncomfortably in protest. “ek! Ugh, I’m never falling asleep in a sitting position again. S-Sorry about all of that, sometimes it takes me a while to wake up properly. Are you alright? I don’t mean to be rude to you, but… You look awful, what time is it?”

The Food Soul’s brow furrowed, whether I had meant it or not, it was clear that my observation of his appearance _had_ upset him, but he checked his little golden fob watch anyway, after retrieving it from God only knew where within those dense, beige robes.

“A minute to seven exactly,” he said calmly, returning the little watch to his robes, “I know that I may not look my best, Miss Attendant; I spent the night with Yuxiang at her Master’s home. She hasn’t been well at all as of late, but… My presence alone is enough to soothe her to sleep, which is exactly what she needs in order to heal properly.”

“She’s not well, huh? You haven’t caught anything from her, have you? Maybe you should rest too, just in case.”

Peking didn’t reply, in fact he outright ignored my worries, choosing instead to reach out and run a slender hand over the gargantuan structure next to me.

“As for you, did you stay up all night mending these?” He asked me, a flicker of his usual self coming back into his eyes, warming his stony features, making him look a little less like a vampire. “You’ve done a good job, they actually look capable of flight now.”

I turned, bewildered, and was immediately greeted by the sight of B-52’s wings sitting beside me, the spindly metal flames glimmering in the early morning sunlight that shone in through my bedroom window. Oh… That was right! That’s what I’d been doing! I’d talked with B, I’d taken the blowtorch from the stockroom and…

With an almighty shudder, I spotted the tool down by my feet and immediately kicked it away into a far corner of the room, the rattling it made as it went cut through me like a knife. Of course, if I had been using a beastly thing like that right before I’d dozed off, no wonder I had slept so uneasily and dreamt what I had dreamt.  
It was because of my discomfort that I didn’t immediately take note of the strange, oddly taut look that had suddenly crept into Peking’s face, but I _began_ to notice as he once again rested his hand upon my arm, coaxing me to look up at him.

“Miss Attendant, I respect that all you wish to do is help B-52 Cocktail, but putting yourself under this amount of pressure for his sake is not advisable, not at all. You must focus on keeping yourself as happy and as content as…”

“I’m fine,” I said sharply, pulling my arm away from him, “sure the… U-Using the blowtorch wasn’t a great experience for me, but I did it, didn’t I? All I have to do now is repair the canvas and…”

“You must not _test_ yourself like this,” Peking continued, as if I hadn’t spoken at all, “it is… Frankly, plainly and painfully obvious that you cannot work around fire, and forcing yourself to do so could result in disaster.”

“Peking, what are you talking about?”

“Miss Attendant, please,” the Food Soul implored me, rolling back his head and angling his eyes to the ceiling, for whatever reason the sight set my teeth on edge, “I am very tired and unfortunately not in the mood for a debate. All I ask of you is that you keep clear of the things that upset you. Tierra is a harsh place, really it is the _last_ Nation in which a young Cooking Attendant should start their career, so believe me when I say that your mental state _matters,_ far more than you could ever imagine.”

His hand was on my shoulder now, as if he could psychologically transmit a message to me if we were touching. All I could do was stare at him, deeply confused, a look that must have shown on my face, as he soon sighed yet again, shaking his head jerkily.

“All I ask is that you keep away from fire, however and wherever possible.”

There was something climbing up my throat, something new, something painful, something wonderful and yet deeply frightening. A tiny, left over spark from the conversation I’d had with B-52 the previous night, sticking itself into the sensitive flesh of my throat. As I spoke, I was sure that even _I_ looked surprised at the words tumbling from my mouth. 

“But… If I do that, then… How am I supposed to make any progress? Despite how scared I am of the stuff – and believe me I am – I… I really, truly don’t want to be scared of it for the rest of my life. That kind of fear is exhausting.”

From that point on, all further conversation died in our throats.

Eventually, Peking stood up, his face plain and devoid of emotion, yet somehow I could still sense that he wasn’t happy with me.

“I shall fetch B-52 Cocktail for you, Miss Attendant.” He stated, the cool, indifferent tone of his voice causing the hairs at the back of my neck to prickle. “So you can show him the… Progress you have made.”

-

Unfortunately, getting B-52 into my room was far easier said than done, the restaurant’s upstairs rooms were fall smaller than the downstairs ones, and about ten minutes were spent just trying to ease the gigantic cyborg through the door.

He’d protested at first, unwilling to smack his head on the doorframe _yet again,_ but he immediately perked up as the fruits of my labour came into his line of sight.

“The engine?” He soon asked me, running a metal finger over the clunky structure suspended between the wings. “Did you look at that too?”

“Yeah, umn… It’s just a petrol one, right?” I asked, realising that I was sinking lower and lower onto my bed, my body heavy with tiredness. The oddly thankless tone in B-52’s voice didn’t bother me, I had no doubt that a series of unfamiliar and frightening emotions were currently racing themselves around his head. I wasn’t expecting him to make sense of all of them. “I’ve only ever fixed a motorcycle’s engine before, and I don’t actually think it ran properly ever again, so…”

B-52 laughed, that strange and jerky sound, but this time I found myself appreciating the noise, as odd as it was, it was still a laugh.

“It is petrol. Though that is not where the majority of its power comes from,” he said cheerily, patting a hand against his stomach, “it comes from me, from my soul power.”

I jerked awake with a half-concealed scoff, which quickly changed to a polite cough before B-52 could realise that I had laughed at his wording.

“S-Sorry, sorry… Um, what was that? Soul power? So you – and correct me if I’m wrong – power the wings yourself?”

“Partly, yes. So I have no doubt that the repairs you have made will be more than substantial to get me in the air.” The mechanical Food Soul replied, cocking a white eyebrow, though I couldn’t be sure if he had fully registered that I’d been laughing _at_ him. “What do you propose to do about the wing membrane?”

“It’s fabric, B, and I have plenty of it in my wardrobe.” I said, gesturing towards the wooden storage unit, “I don’t know if it’s as durable as the old material, but with a frame as big as that… I’m not sure if it’s enough, I’m really not sure, B, I’m sorry.”

The cyborg was looking at me strangely, with an expression that seemed to change with each second, though each change was minuscule and easily missed, as if his face wouldn’t or perhaps couldn’t figure out how to feel. I imagined that his brain was in a similar state.

“Master Attendant… _Nonna._ You have tried, and at this moment, your efforts have put me in a much better position than previously. Because of you I may be able to fly again, and for that I am grateful.”

There it was again, that odd _stirring_ in my stomach and throat, only this time it was lighter, warmer, in fact the feeling was far more similar to butterflies now than anything else. 

Oh no.

“Doesn’t… Your contract forbid you to call me anything other than _Master Attendant?”_ I asked, and in spite of the unease sitting uncomfortably in my stomach, I found myself smiling. At the very least, I could let myself celebrate how far he had come, even if I ended up regretting it later.

“It does, technically.” B-52 answered with an almost casual shrug of his working shoulder. “But aside from ignoring the things I am supposed to do, what else have I been doing during my time here?”

I had so much, _so much_ that I wanted to say to him, that I found myself completely speechless, at a loss as to what to say first, or how to say it. Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately, I would find out later – there was a sudden commotion outside my door, and with an almighty thud, Tempura skidded into the room, his face shining with boyish excitement.

“Master Attendant! You have to come downstairs! You’re going to _love_ this.”

Rather selfishly leaving B-52 to ease his own way out of my door, I followed Tempura out of the room and down the stairs at a run, though I had to the good grace to glance back at the cyborg with an apologetic smile.  
The restaurant floor was chaos, a buzz of customers waiting for their food and an energetic thrum of talk, an unusual sight for so early in the morning, but the usual thrill of dread I felt upon seeing so many mouths to feed wasn’t present this time. I was far, far more focused on the bedraggled figure seated at one of the tables closest to the kitchen, his golden hair in a tangled mess and his normally spotless uniform damp and dirty.

_”Pudding!?”_

The Food Soul glanced around at my cry, and in a heartbeat his tired face lit up with uncharacteristic delight at the sight of me. He stood up from his seat to greet me, though he barely had time to draw breath before I’d thrown myself onto him, nearly sending the pair of us tumbling back over his chair and onto the floor. Around us, I heard the conversation of the diners falter a little as they all looked around to see what all the noise was about, but I could hardly care less what they thought, all I cared about was hugging Pudding as tightly as I could, albeit for a few seconds.

“Miss… N-Nonna, please, I can’t…. Exactly breathe.”

I pulled away with a hasty apology, though I kept my hands firmly plastered to his shoulders, the pair of us grinning from ear to ear, it was odd to see the normally stoic and professional Soul looking so happy, but God I was glad to see the sight.

“I don’t… Pudding, I don’t get it.” I said after a while, my voice light with happiness. “You were summoned by someone else, right? What are you doing back here? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge!”

“It’s lovely to see you too, Nonna,” he grumbled, though there was a touch of mirth to his voice as well, “I look like this because I might as well have been dragged through a hedge. I’ve had to walk most of the way back in frankly _appalling_ weather. I’m sorry you have to see me in such a state, but…”

“Oh, don’t be silly! I’d rather see you than _not_ see you! It’s so good to have you back, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!”

Suddenly, Peking Duck was on my shoulder, his appearance was so sudden and silent that I actually jumped, though my reaction was nothing compared to the look on Pudding’s face. Though his posture never changed, his features were set, rigid, and his eyes burned oddly, almost as a warning. However, Peking seemed not to notice and instead offered me a kindly smile, gesturing with an elegant hand towards the kitchen.

“Miss Attendant, I have taken the liberty of preparing yourself and our guest a pot of tea. I shall watch the floor with Tempura for a while, B-52 Cocktail should be here at any moment too. Please, take your time to catch up.”

“Oh, right! Thanks, Peking, you sure you’re okay to work today? You still look…”

But I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence, as those dainty hands found their place at the small of our backs, and made short work of ushering us towards the kitchen, away from the babble of talk that had started up again amongst the customers. True to Peking’s word, he had made us a pot of tea, and with a nod to me, he swept back out onto the restaurant floor, his long plait once again looped neatly around his arm.

The moment the tall Soul was out of earshot, Pudding released a deep, shuddering breath and leant heavily against one of the kitchen workstations, massaging his forehead with the palm of his hand. Upon meeting my confused gaze, he was kind enough to give an explanation.

“I ah… Haven’t seen a Food Soul like Peking Duck around this part of Gloriville for quite some time.” He said shakily. “He’s far, far more powerful than most Souls you’d find here. I can understand the Food Soul we rescued from the catacombs – he didn’t exactly have a choice in coming here – but…”

“He’s here to help, Pudding, it’s okay,” I soothed, though for some reason even I found myself questioning my own words, “Spaghetti would’ve had his way if it weren’t for Peking. I don’t know what he did, but it made Spaghetti back right off, they gave me compensation and everything! I just… Wish I could’ve summoned you back then.”

“Well…” Pudding grumbled, reaching out to pour himself a cup of tea, a look of longing almost laughably present in his face. _“C’est la vie,_ I suppose.”

“Bless you. But enough about him, tell me what happened, Pudding!” I soon pressed, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm, smiling lightly as Tempura bustled past us and out the back door to fetch some water from the vat outside. “The last I heard was that you’d been summoned by someone else, and now you’re back here? What happened?”

“Ahah… Haha…” Pudding snorted, almost inhaling half of his tea up his nose in the process. “Bah! Well… If you must know, I did something that I have never done before, and I hope that you’ll forgive me for not talking about it for too long. It’s deeply shameful for me to think about.”

“Blin, what did you do? Murder your Master Attendant?”

“Certainly not!” Pudding exclaimed, frowning at the uncannily wide grin on my face, his eyes travelling downward to my mouth, which I quickly closed. “No, what I did was – in a way – far worse, I was an absolute nightmare for the man who summoned me. I purposefully got orders wrong, I was rude to customers, I did everything in my power to make myself into the most undesirable Food Soul until he severed our contract. I am afraid that I may have sullied my reputation quite considerably so that I could return here. That Cooking Attendant was everything you aren’t, picky, meticulous, thorough, focused…”

“Oy.” I said sharply, prodding him in the chest with a playful finger. “Watch yourself, hm? Or you could find yourself back in the summoning circle.”

“Quite. It is no doubt what I deserve, but I digress. This Attendant was – for lack of better words – everything I was looking for in an employer, and yet… I just could not bring myself to settle there, given the circumstances I had left you and your restaurant in. I have to say I’ve… Never felt this much attachment to a job I have only had for a few months, and I know that I wasn’t on your side with challenging Spaghetti at first but after some time to think, I realised that you were in the right. After all, if you let people walk all over you, others will see you as soft, and honestly, Nonna, you cannot afford to be soft in this business.”

All I could do was watch, stunned, my eyes slightly out of focus, and I continued to mull over the Magic Soul’s words as he paused to take a drink. My sleep-deprive brain was doing its very best to make sense of what I was hearing, to come up with some response that was both grateful and humorous in tone. However in the end, all it could apparently think to do was fill my eyes with tears, ones that I quickly brushed away with the back of my hand.

“So you… Terminated your contract and came all the way back here from God knows where?” I asked, my voice thick with the promise of more tears, it really was all I could think to do. “Pudding, you’ve… You’ve put yourself through so much for me, why do it? I’m not the kind of Cooking Attendant you normally work for, I don’t even want to _be_ a Cooking Attendant and you know that better than anyone. So why…”

“If I knew the answer, I would certainly tell you, Nonna.” Pudding replied, reaching inside the breast pocket of his waistcoat and pulling out a mercifully clean handkerchief, which he handed to me so I could dry my eyes. “However, I hope that what I have managed to come up with on my way here suffices. This whole system, of Guilds and the Cooking Attendants who work for them, is a heavily, _heavily_ flawed one. It was designed to preserve humanity, preserve it but not allow it to thrive, the limited money and resources given to new Cooking Attendant is – frankly – appalling. I know I was hard on you when we first met, but… Really my anger lies with this new system and the airheads it hires. I understand that humanity’s survival is important, and I sincerely hope that it can thrive again, but this system – however many jobs it generates – is really only a few steps away from not being employed at all. I have only ever known a few people to truly make a good living under this new system. 

“Observe; we have an _abundance_ of customers out there, correct? But how much money are we earning from the set menu we were given? You’re no airhead, I’m sure you can figure out what is wrong here.”

It was a hallowing conversation, though I felt as if I had already reached this conclusion in my head a long time ago, if I was completely honest with myself, I had felt it the first time I had visited Mister Pan’s shop, during the very first disagreement I’d had with Olivia.

Jeez, that bitch. Whatever happened to her?

“So you came back to help?” I asked, chasing those unpleasant thoughts away with a smile, watching Pudding gulp down the rest of his tea in one. Quite a feat considering the stuff was still boiling hot.

“That, yes,” Pudding replied, offering me a true, genuine smile, it was lovely to see such an expression playing on his usually stress-ridden features, “as well as the issue of this Enhanced Fallen everyone is talking about. Word even reached me, even more reason for me to misbehave, in the end my former Attendant terminated our contract with _relish._ I have to say, despite my fondness for keeping things proper and in their place, I took quite a lot of pleasure in dislodging myself from _my_ place.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, a sound that seemed strange to my ears, as if they had become so used to hearing anything but that noise. Outside in the dining room, I heard the creak of the restaurant door once again swing open, and I was faced with the disappointing realisation that I would have to get back to work at some point. But for now, I was far, far more content with hiding out in the kitchen, for now at least I was happy, and oddly emotional that Pudding’s return meant far, far more to me than I could’ve ever expected.

“So, you _are_ staying, aren’t you?” I asked, a slight plea pathetically noticeable in my voice. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’ve missed you, Pudding. After Pan told me you were gone, all I could think of was the fact that I’d never had the chance to say goodbye to you. That and… I wasn’t sure if we had parted on good terms or not.”

In an uncharacteristic display of affection, Pudding leant forward to rest a hand on my shoulder, though for once he seemed a little lost for words, and when he finally spoke it seemed that even he was a tad surprised at what he was saying.

“I will stay, of course I will. I’ve travelled too far to not, and I admit that I too have been… Pining for this place, it’s odd and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but for all intents and purposes this place is one of many sub-par restaurants this side of Gloriville, and yet I still wanted to come back.” He let his hand drop down to his side with a _slap,_ a disbelieving huff of laughter bursting from his lips. 

“I confess I have perhaps grown a little weary of the straight-laced, no-nonsense lifestyle I have lived for so long, I’m over four thousand years old for heaven’s sake. I have seen far too much and met far, far too many interesting faces to keep on restricting myself like this, time to make some progress, hm?”

“Hah, yeah,” I replied, letting my words hang in the air for a moment before I let my head drop onto my arm, “Christ, I’m tired, Pudding…”

I wanted to say more and God I would’ve said far, far more had it not been for the appearance of a behemoth in the doorway to the kitchen. So completely wrapped up in the conversation with Pudding, it took me a few seconds to realise that it was B-52, his shoulders hunched and his head dipped so that he could peer into the room at us both.

“Master Attendant,” he said, completely ignoring Pudding, “there is a man out here who is asking for you. He says it is urgent. My apologies for disrupting your conversation.”

As much as I didn’t want to, I pulled away from the countertop, a frown slowly forming between my brows, no customer had ever _asked_ for me before. I had only taken a few steps towards the door before I felt it. 

Sluggishly, groggily, like it had been asleep for far too long, a sensation of fear slowly began to writhe inside of my stomach, but the sensation suddenly spiked before I’d even properly caught sight of the man. It was like a jolt of electricity; a deep pulse from somewhere within my chest, too strong to be comforting, but awfully, _awfully_ familiar, it was the very last thing I wanted to feel, I _couldn’t_ feel it! How had he even managed to make it here?  
Inside the dining room, a hush had fallen over the customers, talk still hung in the air, but it was faint, a whisper, like a thin fog. Of course they’d all been subdued, some of them had even moved their chairs back ever so slightly from the front of the restaurant, and for a very good reason.  
The man who had come to see me was tall, almost impossibly tall, and if the diners had dared to look at him for long enough, they would’ve realised that. 

How was this man here? How on earth had someone like this found himself in a City like Gloriville?

In spite of the stir he had caused in the room, he seemed quite unperturbed by it, in fact he seemed far more preoccupied with checking his watch, adjusting it to Tierra’s time zone maybe. His head was bowed and his brow furrowed in concentration, but through his shoulder-length dark hair, I could still see the features of his face, sharp and bold, a strong jawline and cheekbones jutting out against weathered skin, illuminated by the weak winter sun shining in from one of the side windows.

Weathered? It had got to him too…

Then in a flash, he glanced up from his wrist and yet again chose to ignore the sudden, loud scraping of chairs that soon followed. Terrified, I darted back behind the kitchen door and immediately slid down it, keeping as close to the floor as I could. _Shit!_ I was completely discombobulated and my heart was throwing itself against my chest, rendering me almost speechless. Oh god, oh _fuck_ if he found me here, then…

“Nonna?”

Pudding’s voice, I jerked my head up to look at him and was surprised to find that in contrast to the utterly stumped look on B-52’s face, Pudding’s expression was calm, collected, in fact it was almost as if he…

“Do you want me to ask him to leave?”

I stared at him, trying to work out if I would end up in more trouble if I said yes. Above me, B-52’s head swivelled around with a series of gentle, metallic clicks, squinting at the man in the dining room and at all the customers who had tried so hard to put distance between themselves and the visitor. Before I could even begin to think of answering Pudding, Peking Duck came sweeping into the kitchen to join us, his pale face rigid.

“Miss Attendant, there is a…”

“Allow me to deal with him.” Pudding sighed, and despite his dirtied appearance, he got to his feet, ignoring his wrinkled waistcoat and his grubby face. “Don’t fret, Master Peking Duck, I have dealt with his sort before. I will handle everything, but please do your best to keep Nonna out of sight.”

“Pudding,” I hissed, grabbing at the hem of the Magic Soul’s trousers, terror numbing my insides, “don’t! He might…”

But Pudding ignored me – of course he did – our contract had been severed. But maybe, just maybe that was for the better.

Bold as brass, he strode onto the restaurant floor, passing tables full of wide-eyed customers until he reached the front of the shop. How he had managed to get so close was completely beyond me, and through a crack where the door met the wall, I could just about see what was going on. Our visitor was still standing in exactly the same spot, his face carefully arranged and his deep, green eyes fixed unblinkingly on Pudding, on his prey. 

The customers would’ve seen him as more animal than human, of course, that’s what most people would see, a man with a wolf’s face, a wolf’s eyes, a wolf’s instincts. 

“Good morning, sir! Can I get you a table?” Pudding was asking, and the confidence in his voice was – in a way – even scarier than the man himself.

“No, but thank you.” Came his voice, rich with that accent so familiar to mine, but it sounded different to me now, more layered… I heard many of the customers shifting uncomfortably in their seats, and I knew what they must be thinking, what conclusions they must be forming in their heads. That if they listened hard enough, they could hear _more_ in that voice, echoes, whispers. The sound reverberated around the room for what seemed like an awfully long time.

“I’m actually here to speak with your manager,” the man went on, his gaze moving up and above Pudding’s head, looking straight into the kitchen, “I thought I saw her just now. Brunette hair, blue eyes, her name is Noyab…”

“The Master is out, I’m afraid,” Pudding interrupted, though how he’d had the courage to do so was beyond me, “you may have seen one of her assistants, but she isn’t here and she _certainly_ isn’t a brunette.”

Many people had fallen completely silent by now, from my position behind the door, I could still make out the odd face, or more accurately, the terror staining each and everyone one of those faces.

“They’re looking right at him,” I moaned under my breath, more to myself than anyone else, “for the love of God, _why_ are they still looking at him?”

From somewhere behind me, I heard Tempura stumble back through the kitchen door, his built arms laden with two buckets of fresh water. He beamed at the sight of me, and opened his mouth to speak, but I furiously hushed him before his great, booming voice had a chance to ring out. Subdued and looking more than a little like a scolded puppy, he set his water buckets down and crept over to where B-52 and I stood, his amber eyes wide as he too peered through the gap in the door, a comforting, steadying hand set upon my shoulder.

It was miraculous just how quickly he had caught onto the situation. 

“Are you certain of this?” The man’s voice rang out again, and with a cold series of clicks from his heels, he moved to step around Pudding. “I am sure I saw her in the kitchen. If you would allow me to…”

Pudding thrust out an arm to stop him, an action that set the restaurant ablaze with terrified gasps and sharp movements from the customers, above my head, I heard Tempura swear lightly under his breath and _felt_ his whole body tense, ready for combat. Somewhere towards the front of the room, a small child’s petrified cry rang out, a grating noise that clearly didn’t sit well with the man at the door. Subdued, he took a step back, though his eyes never left the kitchen, and despite us still being a good few yards apart, I could still _feel_ his gaze.

“The Master does sometimes use the kitchen door when she goes out,” Pudding was saying, lying shamelessly with not so much as a flicker of fear in his voice, “so as to avoid disrupting our customers. Perhaps you did see her, but I am afraid she won’t be back for some time. Could I pass on a message perhaps? We’re very busy at the moment, you see.”

The man’s wolfish gaze slid down to Pudding’s face, and despite the Food Soul’s meticulously crafted composure, this time that stare was enough to make him shiver.

“I would like to see her myself, if you please.” He said coolly, and though his words were harmless enough, the tone in which he delivered them in was far from it.

There was a great surge of movement beside me, and I looked up in shock as B-52 stepped out into the dining room too, his back rigid and his working hand clenched.

“She isn’t here.” He said, in his short, sharp manner. “Nor will she be for quite some time. We have a lot of things to do today, so if you would be so kind as to _leave a message,_ we will make sure that it is delivered to her.”

I dropped my head into my hands, a shuddering breath ripping through me. God, no… B, why would you? Why for _me?_ Behind me, Tempura kept his hands steady on my shoulders, and somewhere in amongst my blind panic, I heard him murmur under his breath.

“Hey, hey… Don’t breathe so hard, Attendant. This man isn’t to be trusted, if things get hairy, I’ll show him who’s boss.”

There was silence for a few, deeply uncomfortable moments, until a small laugh rang out and I looked up in utter surprise. Through the gap in the door, I could see that the man wore quite a different expression now, one halfway between confusion and amusement.

Oh, oh of course, if B-52 looked familiar to _me_ then it would only make sense that…

“Well now, it’s no wonder why she has stayed here for as long as this.” He said lightly, gesturing to B-52, his tone was completely different, though that subtle threat still hung in the air. “Interesting, very interesting. Has she told you about him?”

I almost burst into tears right there and then. Oh no, oh no, oh _no._ God, I would’ve liked nothing more than to jump out and scream at him to get away from my restaurant, but of course the damage had been done now, there was no way to reverse what was said.  
B-52’s posture didn’t change, in fact it looked as if he was quite unable to change it, and the three men continued to stare as each other until Pudding finally broke the silence, his cool, crisp, professional tone firmly back in place.

“There really is an awful lot to be getting on with. Sir, if you would leave a message with us, we will pass it on to our Master as soon as we can.”

Now faced with two apparently unmovable objects, the man appeared to weigh up his options, staring from one face to the next, Pudding still quivered slightly, but B-52 looked as if he had been carved out of stone.

“Very well,” the visitor said eventually, that hunter’s gaze giving the dining area one last sweep before he turned to leave, “you look busy after all. I apologise for wasting your time.”

God, _please go,_ I found myself silently begging, watching eagerly as his hand rested upon the doorknob, turning it slowly, the mechanics inside clicked ominously. Click, click, _click…_

“I just want to talk, Noyabrina.” He suddenly called, and though his tone was lighter than it had been, it was somehow simultaneously as if he had set off a bomb in the room. “Simple as that, and Nastassia and Mariya just want to know what happened. That’s all.”

With that, and with his voice still ringing in the ears of everyone in the room, he took his leave, letting the door close by itself behind him, and the click of it finally shutting echoed painfully throughout the room.

The moment that click sounded, my breathing picked up, the true, damning feeling of panic slammed into me like a physical blow, and before I could even try to control myself, I was sobbing furiously, my hands over my mouth.  
There was movement behind me, and with a rustle of clothes and a swish of golden hair, I found myself bundled up in Tempura’s massive arms, the huge Food Soul gently helped me to my feet, his normally ferocious voice low and gravelly, as close to comforting as he could get it.

“Hey, heyyy… He’s split, alright? If he comes back I’ll show him what for, okay, Attendant?”

“O-Okay… Okay.” I blubbered, too overwhelmed to really think about what I was saying.

We stayed like that for several minutes, with me fighting to calm myself down while Tempura simply held me, as though that was all he could think to do, but it helped, God it helped. Eventually I heard the noise slowly pick up in the restaurant once again, and felt the floor creak beneath me as the rest of my staff crept back into the kitchen.

“Nonna?”

Pudding’s voice again, and I felt his hand on my arm, warm and _present._

“I think you’ve been through enough this morning. You said you were tired, why not try to get some sleep? Come on, don’t stay down here, there’s always a chance that he could come back…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh christ, Nonna's fucked, she got weird freaky men coming at her from all sides. I MEAN GRANTED one of them is B, but that other guy? Yeesh. What's his deal?
> 
> Enjoy!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from Her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

“Who was that man talking about?”

“I can’t tell… B, I can’t tell you, honestly I can’t. You’ve already been hurt so much.”

“Did you care about him?”

“O-Of _course_ I did, and I care about you too! That’s why I can’t… Look, he’s gone, okay? I know how this all sounds, but please believe me when I say that this is for your benefit. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I want to believe you, Nonna. I want to care about you, though I doubt I am able to.”

“Of course you’re able to. You’re capable of _feeling,_ B, just as capable as I am.”

“I feel… Strange, Nonna. Like my mind is changing, I don’t understand these feelings; it seems like there is a flame inside of my body that… Wants to burst out. Does this have a name?”

“I don’t know. I’m not keen on the fire metaphor, but I think… I think I know what you mean. I think I can feel it too.”

A rustle of fabric, a shallow release of breath, a hastily stifled sob.

“I’m so scared, B. So, so scared…”

-

_Two days until the ball._

-

The thick silver sewing needle flashed brilliantly for a split second as it flickered through the air, trailing strong, doubled thread in its wake. It was retracing a path that it had taken before, along the top of another line of stitching, strengthening it, bringing the two edges of the fabric together in a crude, rough, but nonetheless effective seam.

“This isn’t perfect, but it will do I think.” I said softly, heavily, pulling the thread tightly so that it knotted, finishing off yet another wonky seam. “You’ll be able to fly with this stuff, I’m sure you will, just as long as there aren’t any holes in the fabric. It’s not pretty, but…”

 _“’It will do’.”_ B-52 murmured, his own voice lower than usual, indicating a lack of steam, or perhaps a lack of motivation, maybe both. “It is better than we had before, Nonna. I’m happy to help if it means I can fly again.”

“I’m happy that you can _grab_ stuff again,” I said with a tiny smile, glancing up at him, and the way he held the fabric out for me so dutifully, yet gingerly in _both_ of his hands, “how is your arm feeling now?”

“Tender. But functional, it is all I need it to be.”

With that, he went back to his work, the fingers of his right hand moved to grip the fabric slowly, carefully, holding the material gently as if to test how much pressure he could apply before the pain set in. There was a reason for this slow, steady behaviour, for the usual series of belts that kept his useless right arm pinned to his side were gone, and had been for a good few days.

Not that getting it working again had been particularly easy…

“Do you know what? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the mechanics in this shoulder at all.” I’d said to him a few days prior, sitting beside him in the gloomy stockroom with his blueprints yet again splayed across my lap.

“Most of what you’ve got on that shoulder is… It’s almost like armour, right?”

“Affirm – yes.” 

I’d leant back in my chair at that, and pondered over the blueprints yet again, my lips twisted in concentration, formulating a plan that could either end in triumph or complete disaster.

“Only because I don’t think you’ve broken anything,” I’d said, my eyes darting back up to focus on his offending shoulder, “I actually think it’s _dislocated._ Which is far easier to fix than anything broken, in a way.”

B-52 was quick to ask the most glaring question.

“Have you ever re-located a shoulder joint?”

“Yes, but you’re quite a bit bigger than everyone else I’ve done it for.”

Though I had initially hesitated, I soon found myself positioned at his massive shoulder, trying my best to remember what I’d had to do to help people in the past. It wasn’t that I was afraid of doing it wrong, but I was a little wary of what the cyborg’s reaction would be. Perhaps a warning was needed.

“This is going to hurt, just do you know,” I’d said, carefully arranging my hands, trying to steady my nerves and focus on nothing but the warm metal of his shoulder vibrating softly beneath my fingers, “but if it gives you back the use of your arm, then…”

“Do not be alarmed, whatever pain receptors I have are dulled for the purpose of combat,” B-52 had replied, rotating his head just _a little too far_ for my liking so that he could look around at me, “I trust that you know what you are doing, please continue.”

With that rather horrible knowledge now wedged into my head, I did as he said, and the noise that followed almost brought the entire restaurant down.

“’Dulled pain receptors’, huh?” I mumbled, my hands clasped firmly over my ears as my patient _howled_ with discomfort. “Dulled my ass.”

Thankfully, those few moments of pain were really all he’d had to suffer through, as now at least he seemed perfectly capable of holding things, even though the action was still visibly uncomfortable for him. However, the pain he felt was very clearly the last thing on his mind, as his working eye watched my progress with something so intense it almost bordered on hunger. I could understand his eagerness to see this particular job done, this was the last little thing we had to do before we could test them out after all. But despite his enthusiasm, I was still a tad unwilling to let him fly, though I had seen the miracle of aviation in action time after time after time, the thought that these two, spindly things could lift someone as big as B-52 into the air was a hard one to process.

The worry on my face was apparently all too easy to spot. 

“Nonna. Please do not worry.” The cyborg spoke suddenly, bowing his head a little and raising his eyes so that he could look up into my own lowered face. “I am confident that the work you have done here is enough.”

“… What if you fall?” I asked abruptly, finally voicing one of my many concerns to the room. “From a height? What if you’re up in the clouds and the engine fails? What if the wind blows a hole in the fabric? I know you’re confident, B, but I’m not, I’m not confident in what I’m able to do, and I need you to know that.”

B-52 nodded somberly, his gaze never wavering, as if staring at me for long enough would cause my worries to melt away.

“Would it make you feel better if I say that I am prepared to face defeat?” He asked, his voice slow and steady, choosing his words carefully. “I am prepared to accept that this may not work. But you should also accept that you have done what you can, shouldn’t you?”

“I’m trying, B, honest to God I am,” I insisted, letting my hands drop to my sides, the last threat knotted and cut, “but it’s easy to say that, it’s the doing part that’s hard. I’m done, by the way… I’ve done my best.”

I was spared talking anymore by the sudden, sharp and unmistakeable sound of someone knocking at the restaurant door. I glanced around, wondering if perhaps Tempura or Pudding would get it for me, before I remembered that I had asked them to bake some fresh bread for the day’s work, and realised that it would be a little rude to expect them to do everything.

“I promise you we’ll test them out later, okay?” I asked the cyborg, getting to my feet, trying to ignore the slightly desperate, longing look he gave me, like a dog denied his treat. “Lets get the day over with first. We need the money, B.”

-

A sharply dressed courier stood outside the restaurant door, shivering slightly from the cold, a neatly wrapped package and a box of some description held snugly under his arm. As I opened the door to receive him, I realised where I’d seen the brilliance of his red uniform before; it was the same shade Hotdog had donned, a colourful splash against the dreary, grey streets of Gloriville.

“Is that my dress?” I asked him before he’d even had the chance to open his mouth. “Blyat, wait a moment, I’ll need to get some money out of the till to pay you. What else do you have there?”

He frowned at me, obviously a little put out that I had managed to speak before him, but he answered my question politely nonetheless, something which I was grateful for, he was practically a puppy compared to the poker-straight representative Olivia had sent out.

“A pair of shoes to match, and a complimentary make up pallet. Madam Hotdog has asked me to apologise on her behalf for the added cost of the shoes, apparently she never asked you about them.”

“Oh! Christ, well I never even thought of them, so feel free to blame me too.” I scoffed, quickly darting across the room to punch the cash register, the tray slid open reluctantly with a squeal of unoiled joints. “Blin, what was I supposed to go to the ball in? My work shoes? Are they a size four, by the way?”

“They are indeed.”

“How the hell did she know?”

Handing over the money to him pained me just a tad, I wasn’t exactly making millions after all, but as the courier handed my purchases to me, bowed crisply and set off back down the cobbled street, I remembered just how happy I’d felt after seeing the dress in Hotdog’s catalogue. Spaghetti’s ball would be a miserable affair – this I knew for a fact – and no doubt _crawling_ with bourgeoisie, but for a night at least, I would both look and _feel_ good in a dress.

Smiling slightly at the thought, I turned to walk into the kitchen, though I couldn’t help but notice the empty tables scattered about the dining room, sad and cold without their customers. Though it was still early, things were quiet, quieter even then when we’d first opened, though we still had a trickle of customers, it was little more than just that; a trickle. It had been like this for a few days now.

In fact, the conversation in the kitchen between Tempura and Pudding seemed to still be about nothing but the lack of business, as well as the strange man who had robbed us of almost all our patronage. Of course, why would they be talking about anything else? 

“We will get customers again, he scared them, Tempura, that’s really all there is to it.” Pudding was saying yet again to the large and very gloomy Defence Soul as I wandered in to join them. “I daresay no human around here has ever seen his type before, you saw their reactions, didn’t you? Their brains were completely fried, and for good reason!”

“Morning.” I said hesitantly, hoping that my presence would drive the subject away from this uncomfortable subject, but to my dismay, Tempura aimed to continue it, shoving a few pieces of cucumber into the salad he was preparing as he did so.

“I guess so. But I saw an eyeful of him too and _I’m_ fine! Besides, not like he did them any harm, eh?”

“Human brains are not as _robust_ as ours.” Pudding answered, casting me an apologetic smile over his shoulder, his hands encased in dough. “Their minds just couldn’t make sense of him, it’s as simple as that. Look at Nonna, I wouldn’t call her a wimp, yet even _her_ first instinct was to hide when she saw him.”

Relieved, I let my shoulders drop a little, and I finally felt brave enough to return Pudding’s smile, but it was an odd one. For whatever reason, I felt a stranger, eerier sensation, a creeping, sneaking suspicion that Pudding and I both knew something, it was a mutual understanding that soon replaced the fear in my stomach. Though what exactly we understood – I wasn’t entirely sure. 

“No customers out there, Master?” Tempura asked, his bottom lip jutting out in a comically childlike pout. “Thought I heard the door open just now.”

“It did, but it was just my dress for this… Stupid ball.” I said, lifting up the packages so that he could see them. “Good thing it arrived, it’s only a few days away, I was beginning to worry that it wouldn’t show up in time.”

“Excellent. There’s no need to talk about it with such _venom,_ Nonna, I still think that Spaghetti simply wishes to make amends,” Pudding said, finally turning his attention away from his work so that he could talk to me properly, “I admit, I was a little suspicious when you told me about this ball, but at the end of the day, he _is_ a nobleman and his reputation is important. I imagine that he doesn’t want there to be any scandals floating around, even if it is a small one. That is the most likely reason why he has invited you.”

I scrunched up my nose doubtfully, but even I had to admit that Pudding’s hypothesis was almost definitely right. I wondered if perhaps Peking Duck had threatened the noble Food Soul with a dirtied reputation when he had persuaded him to spare my restaurant. 

Surely this ball was just a peace offering.

“In that case, I suppose that this is actually the perfect time for me to test out B-52’s wings.” I said, trying my best not to look at the packages cradled in my arms. “I’ll hang this dress up, are you two okay in here for the time being?”

“Naturally.” Pudding responded, resuming his merciless beating of the ball of dough atop the counter. “Though I should ask if you know whether or not Peking Duck is coming in today. If so, I have a few things he can get on with.”

“I’m not sure, sorry, Pudding, Peking has a schedule of his own,” I sighed, turning to go, however I just couldn’t resist sending a wry smile back at the Magic Soul, “though I _am_ sure that he won’t like you telling him what to do.”

“Well.” Pudding snorted, slapping down his dough down onto the countertop with a loud and very wet ‘plop’! “I’m afraid he’ll just have to lump it. This isn’t his restaurant and he is certainly not your Food Soul.”

At this, Tempura looked up from his work, bushy blond eyebrows drawn together into a puppy dog frown.

“You want something to eat, Attendant?” He asked, waving the half stick of cucumber he hadn’t yet sliced through the air in a vague gesture. “You look real tired. Fixing someone like that big guy isn’t easy, you should have breakfast! Right, Pudding?”

“She should, but she won’t.” Pudding sighed, a sound that followed me out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room.

He was right, I’d eat later, but right now I was tasked with getting the equivalent of a few dozen-ton incinerator into the air.

-

The air was crisp but chilly, and a gentle wind blew through the trees bordering the restaurant, creating a slow but steady sway that filled the back yard with a constant rustling, making the whole place feel as though it were alive, almost _breathing._

Besides the wind, the weather didn’t seem all that special to me, but as B-52 and I exited the back door – struggling a little with the spindly contraptions now strapped to his back – the cyborg tilted his head against the breeze, nodding happily. Once he was free from the door, he strode out onto the grass, those great wings trailed out behind him, already gargantuan in size despite the fact that he had yet to open them up.

“Optimal wind conditions,” he said, more to himself than me, his tone as crisp as the air, “minimal cloud cover, satisfactory light and temperature, no snow, no ice.”

“No annoying flight attendants.” I joked, smiling as I took up my position next to him. But I didn’t stand too close, the last thing I wanted to do was get smacked in the face again, I still wasn’t wholly convinced that anyone could have full control over wings as large as those.

“Quite. I should be able to get off the ground here, provided the wing membrane holds.”

“It’s _fabric.”_ I reminded him, but he didn’t seem to be listening, and for good reason. His attention was fully focused on adjusting the great, leather straps that bound his wings to him. They’d been no picnic to get on, the buckles were slightly rusty and bigger than my hands, and there had been a few of them to do up, one for each shoulder and two across his chest; it was a wonder he had any movement in his upper body at all with those great bonds tied to him.

“Can I… Help?” I asked a little lamely, watching tentatively as he reached behind him for the metal bar that would unfurl the wings. “I don’t think the engine will hold out for too long, I checked and I think there’s _just_ enough petrol to get you in the air. I’m not sure where we’d go to get more, either, I’m sorry.”

“I am only going for a test run, and the petrol is backup power.” He replied, his hand drifting away from the bar, evidently set on reassuring me before he took to the skies. Or so I hoped. “Perhaps I should have mentioned this sooner. My soul power is what will get me in the air.”

“Oh umn… Yeah, about that, what _is_ that exactly?” I asked, eager to put my mind at rest, I didn’t think I could take much more guesswork. “I’m a pretty shit mechanic, but I’m good enough to know about most sources of power, and that _isn’t one of them,_ B.”

“Not to humans, but to Food Souls, it _is_ our source of power, it is our only source of power.” B-52 explained, rapping a hand against his chest. “Most Food Souls store this power in their hearts, which – as I am sure you will agree – is the place one would expect to find such a power. However, since I am… Hm.”

He paused, tilting his head to one side, perhaps looking for the words to explain, I watched him with slight concern, a rather nasty thought creeping up into my head, and before I’d even had a chance to stop it, I blurted it out.

“You… Have a heart, don’t you, B? Don’t…” I faltered at the look he gave me, it wasn’t that it was an angry look, but the hollow, almost bitter disappointment in his face was enough to make me choke on my words. “I-I mean! Of… Of course you have a heart. Something has to keep you going, doesn’t it?”

Silence fell between us, a silence so complete that even the rustling of the trees around us seemed to have been dulled. For a few, horrible moments I was afraid that I’d really messed up, but to my great relief, B-52’s face relaxed. He didn’t look sad now, he didn’t even look uncomfortable, on the contrary in fact! At my question, his head tilted up slightly, that single blue pupil angling skywards, the most commonly seen position and expression of one in deep thought.

“I suppose my power core could be considered a heart. That is where _my_ soul power is housed.” He said after a while, and before I could stop him, he had un-tucked his shirt from his belt and pulled it up to reveal his midriff. “Right here. This is what will power my wings.”

At first glance, the ‘skin’ of his stomach and his abdomen looked quite normal, but upon further inspection, I could see what he was talking about. There was something _glowing_ underneath, so brightly that its light could be seen through the Food Soul’s synthetic skin, circular in shape and set – or so I assumed – into the metal plating that protected his stomach. Even in the daylight, as I watched, the light seemed to shift, fizzling gently out from a blooming, orange glow to a bright white, it seemed almost alive. I stared at it, almost transfixed, my eyebrows drew together and my throat seemed to close up as two simultaneous realisations hit me.

I’d seen that type of anatomy before, and I’d seen that _glow_ before, twice in fact! Once from the soul embers, those elusive, fiery cinders that seemed to dictate the success of every Cooking Attendant trapped in Gloriville, and…

“I’m assuming that this is the closest thing to a heart I possess.” B-52 spoke, completely derailing my train of thought. He too looked a little dazed, his eye angle down to his exposed stomach. “It’s why it sits under my skin, unlike everything else in my body, I cannot afford to sustain damage here, I doubt that repair, or recovery of me _myself_ would be possible in that situation, in fact I am most fortunate that the Fallen in the catacombs did not manage to shatter it.”

“I ah… Umn…” I blustered, trying desperately to regain some composure, focus, Nonna, don’t let _anything_ slip out, even if it would help him. “So that powers your wings? How, exactly? It doesn’t seem to be anywhere near the engine.”

B-52 looked almost proud to reply, and I got the strangest feeling that he was rather enjoying explaining how everything about him worked. Of course, why would he not be? He was – for lack of a better term – a marvel of engineering, and he deserved to be treated as such. Spaghetti really had had no idea what he’d been doing with him.

“Power strips,” he answered, gesturing to his back, though the heavy engine obscured most of it, “both on the engine and on my back, they are parallel to each other. I should have shown you before I put on my wings, but I digress. Once it is activated, the engine will sucker itself to the power strips on my back, and my soul power will do the rest, the petrol is only needed if I become too tired to operate the wings myself.”

In spite of everything, in spite of the risks and the problems facing us, I could feel my lips turning up into a tiny smile, and I almost trembled where I stood, tickled by a spark of excitement that had suddenly flickered into life inside my chest. Really, how were we supposed to find out if I had succeeded unless we tried? Nothing had ever been accomplished by sitting about.

Nothing had _ever_ been accomplished by sitting about.

“How do you activate them?” I asked, and I was somewhat startled to hear just how hoarse my voice had become, alight with fear yet breathless with enthusiasm. B-52’s working eye met mine, and after a moment’s hesitation, he nodded my head towards me, asking, almost _begging._

“An order.” He replied, his feet shifting in the grass, his hand yet again reached out behind him, spindly fingers rested upon the metal bar. “Please, Nonna.”

“I can’t.” I said, putting up my hands, shaking my head doggedly. “Perish the thought, B! You do it, we did this for you, they’re your wings, it’s _your_ engine, this is your flight. You give the order.”

B-52’s face tightened, a horribly familiar look, one that he always wore when on the edge of making his own decisions, it had mellowed out as of late, but it was clear that something like this was most unfamiliar to him. Around us, the trees continued to sway in the wind, their branches creaking and the odd smattering of birdsong could be heard in amongst the din, all the sounds of nature closing in on us, urging… Go… Go… Go.

“Power up.” B-52 murmured, as though he were ashamed.

The result of those two, simple words was instantaneous and nothing short of terrifying. At once, the wings snapped out from behind him with an unholy screeching of metal, gigantic and bat like, illuminated by the sun behind them; making him look twice his usual size. An insistent humming started up from somewhere within the engine, growing louder, higher in pitch and more insistent with each passing second, drowning out the sounds of the forest beside us. I could see the glow from B-52’s power core shining brightly through his shirt, and with a _clang,_ the heavy engine latched itself against his back as if forced there by a magnetic pull so harsh that he almost stumbled and fell, but he kept his balance in the grass, his one working eye glowing with the same intensity coming from his core. It was a truly awesome yet horrifying spectacle.

Then, as if all of that hadn’t been enough, those great wings swooped down, the joints screaming in protest, almost threatening to buckle and snap, but they stayed mercifully in tact. Before I knew what had happened, I found myself bowled back into the grass by the wind the structure generated, that first beat alone was ferocious, and _almost_ enough to lift B-52 off of the ground, but as he raised them up to try again, he staggered once more and the wings faltered as if they were unsure of what to do. In a hair-raising, impossibly tense moment, I almost feared that it wouldn’t be enough, that our efforts had all been for nought, but as he brought them down once again, I saw his feet leave the grassy floor, his arms held out at an angle as if to balance himself, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, it was clear that some _persuasion_ was in order.

Jaw clenched and muscles tense, I fought my way through the grass towards him, half-crawling at first, then I found my feet, and soon I was darting to stand before him, my hands flying up to grab his own, trying to ignore the wind whipping my face, my hair, my clothes, and the utterly confused and terrified look he gave me.

“What are y…”

“Get… Up there…!” I grunted at him, pushing against his hands with all my might, my brain going blank, leaving room for only one thought, to _get him in the air._ “Fly, B! God damnit, _fly!”_

As the words left me, I shoved myself against him, the bumpy metal of his hands digging into soft flesh of my palms for a few, gut-wrenching seconds before we parted, I had no idea if the extra push I had given him had been enough, for my world was suddenly a cacophony of squealing metal and whistling wind piercing my ears, so thunderous that I couldn’t make sense of anything for a good few seconds.

Then… Silence.

I fell back into the grass, wincing as the cold, damp earth beneath me immediately soaked my thin work clothes, but the discomfort was almost immediately forgotten as I allowed my eyes to travel up into the sky, and to the spindly figure rising quickly into the wispy clouds, the roar from the engine and the squealing metal still faintly audible, telling me that somehow, remarkably, my work had been _enough_ to get him as high as he’d wanted.

“Ahah…” I muttered, a little dazed, watching as he soared above me, diving down a few feet before hauling himself up again into what was unmistakeably a lazy backflip. “Fucking show-off.”

A few more moments passed, in which B-52’s thin silhouette soon disappeared, whether it was because of the clouds or because he’d flown too high for me to still make him out, I had no idea, but for now I was content to let him go wherever he wished. He could fly again, and that was all I cared about, even if my repairs didn’t hold up, for now they were enough, they were _enough…_

_Snap!_

My head jerked to the side, my eyes wide and my heart suddenly thudding loudly against my chest. Oh no, not now… Not again.

I sat up quickly, my uniform damp and my hair no doubt full of grass, but I was up, and I could see clearly into the forest beside me. What the hell was going on? Why did this keep happening? Was it just me being paranoid, or _was_ there something there? Was there someone looking out at me through the thick tree trunks, their dark eyes hidden almost expertly behind a thin gorse bush. It was winter after all, the leaves had gone, there were far, far less places for this _thing_ to hide. Frantically I climbed to my feet, making a beeline straight for the trees, my mind yet again taken over by that fierce determination to _find_ whatever this thing was and demand to know why the hell it was still bothering me.  
Somewhere behind the cluster of twigs and near-dead leaves, I may have seen those eyes blink, and before I’d even had the chance to draw breath, they were gone, leaving nothing but the chilly wind whipping my face, and the rustling of the barren bush they had been hiding behind to fill the air.

“God fucking…”

But I had no time to say more than that, as an explosion of noise suddenly sounded from above my head, and as I glanced up in surprise, I saw B-52 swoop down from the sky, barely missing me as he shot past in a flurry of metal and fabric. Heart once again thundering in my chest, I cursed loudly, completely caught off guard, and soon enough I found myself in the grass again, too dizzy to carry on standing up. Annoyed yet somehow still amused, I watched as he performed several loops in the air above me, making a mental note to give him a stern talking to when he was down on the ground again, _if_ he ever came down again. He was a fantastic flyer, that much was for certain, no wonder he was so keen to get back to the skies, if that was what he was missing.

However, after a few more minutes, even he seemed to realise that he was pushing his luck a little – the repairs weren’t perfect after all – so with one, final lazy loop, he made his way back down to the ground. I watched him from a safe distance, keeping low in the grass, observing the way the mismatched fabric rippled in the air as he descended, the bellow of the engine subsiding, the grinding metal of the framework dying down, joints growing still and those great appendages folding in behind his back once again. His feet hit the ground with a _thud,_ and soon all that could be heard were the trees rustling overheard, and the slow, deep breaths he kept on taking, steadying himself, calming himself down.

My first reaction was to laugh, a shaky and oddly emotional sound.

“That was… One hell of a test run.” I croaked, but that was all I could manage before I was pulled into what was unmistakeably a hug. From the distance I had put between us, I hadn’t quite been able to make out the cyborg’s expression, but now I could see the smile blooming across his face as clear as day, and hear the emotion in his voice, so strong that whatever vocal program he had jittered and glitched with the effort. It was a slightly worrying and yet utterly heart warming thing to hear.

“Thank you, Nonna!” He cried, pulling me up and into his arms, holding me so tightly that I worried he would crush my ribs. “Thank you!”

All I could do was laugh in return, throwing my arms around him so that I could hug him to me, the bridge of my nose nestled against the crook of his neck, the slow, steady thrum from his engine soon soothed my racing heart, so much so that I didn’t want him to let go; this moment was one that needed to be treasured.

“Thank _you_ for trusting me.” I murmured, hurriedly blinking away tears from my eyes. “I would’ve given up without you, B.”

Somewhere behind us, there came a strange noise, something short and sharp yet familiar, a sound that I hadn’t heard in quite some time. It was _applause_ of all things.

United in bewilderment, B-52 and I glanced around; behind us stood Tempura and Pudding, the latter of which was the culprit behind the applause, whereas Tempura seemed a little too lost for words to do anything other than stand and gawp.

“Well, well, well!” Pudding was laughing, his golden eyes shining with pride. “Look at that! You’d best hope I don’t start sending you out to do deliveries, B-52! With wings like yours, you could feed the whole of Gloriville in less than an hour!”

Alight with happiness and relief, I just couldn’t help grinning, even when B-52 set me back down into the grass and I lost that wonderful, oddly _whole_ feeling, my face didn’t change, in fact it didn’t seem as though it could.  
Finally I had done some real good, finally I had managed to make a difference, no matter how small of a difference it was, it mattered to B-52, and in that moment, that was all I cared about.

The thing in the trees would have to wait, I had a reason to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HE'S UP!! HE'S IN THE AIR!! HE'S FLYIN!!
> 
> Chapter after next is the ball, folks, get ready,,, It's gonna be a long one.


	23. (Break.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from hEr home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

“B? What are you doing?”

The stockroom was quiet and gloomy, yet the moon shone brightly in a cloudless sky, giving B-52 all the light he needed to complete his task. He sat atop his favourite crate, holding something in his left hand, while his right fiddled about with dials and buttons, drawing out a myriad of sounds.

“Experimenting.” He answered me, glancing up towards me, the synthetic skin around his working eye wrinkled with a smile. “But it may not work. Aren’t you tired? It’s very late.”

“I’m fine… Oy, is that the radio?” I asked, taking up my usual position on the crate opposite, my chin held in my hands as I surveyed his work. “No use trying to get any stations out of that, I…”

But I trailed off, my jaw going slack and my eyes widened as all of a sudden, a clear, coherent noise burst out of the little box in B-52’s hands. Piano chords, guitar chords, an actual melody! In fact, if I wasn’t very much mistaken, it was playing ‘Mister Blue Sky’, loud and clear as if nothing had ever happened.

“Fixed.” He said simply, handing it over to me. “I know you were trying to fix it approximately a month ago. I hope it makes you happy.”

I took it from him, still a little stunned, though for what reason I wasn’t entirely sure, until…

“Wait. Have you always known how to fix it?”

“Yes, I thought it best to let you try first, but then you became preoccupied with the restaurant, and with me.”

I set the radio down, my fingers steepling together, surveying him with confusion until I found the words to form another response.

“… Did you know how to fix your wings?”

B-52 fell silent, and a subdued, almost guilty look soon covered his face. He sat back on his crate, his working eye trailing off to the side. I stared at him accusingly, wondering what on earth he had to say for himself.

“I have performed maintenance on myself in the past.” He admitted, that one, glowing pupil slowly moving back to me, but he kept his face averted, like a scolded puppy who was unsure of how to make it up to his owner. “My arm, my eyes and… Yes, my wings. I am no expert, but I have fixed myself in the past.”

All I could do was sigh, and crumple in half, my face falling down into my hands.

“B… _Why?”_ I groaned, shaking my head. “Why put yourself through that? You could’ve fixed yourself, you could’ve flown sooner!”

“Because you wanted to help me.” He replied soberly, his eye downcast to the floor, his hands twisting themselves anxiously in front of him. “It was frustrating – I admit that – but in the end you did it. You want to be a mechanic, not a Cooking Attendant, and though you were honest with me and told me that your skills were limited, you wanted to help me.”

I raised my face, only this time the wrinkles on my forehead were gone, and my cheeks shone with tears, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through the high window.

“B…” I mumbled, trying desperately to stem the flow of tears. “You really didn’t have to do this for me… Not at your own expense.”

“But I wanted to do this.” B-52 replied, and his tone was laced with a certainty I hadn’t heard before. He leant towards me, hesitance pulling at him before he put out his newly working hand, resting it ever so gently on my shoulder, as if I’d break if he was too heavy handed with me. “Which you said is important, didn’t you? I made a decision, Nonna, to let you help me, and… You said that was important, that I make decisions. Right?”

Still tearful, I nodded, reaching up to grasp his wrist, my hand trembling with emotion.

“Right. Right… Make a decision you did, and I’m proud of you for doing that. I’m sorry, I was just confused, I didn’t think you’d want to wait around for me to… Quit moping and actually start working. Thank you, B, thank you for giving me a chance.”

He kept his hand there for a moment more, his working eye glowing softly, perhaps a little lost as to how to respond.

“You should get some rest. We may have more customers tomorrow.” He said gently, removing his hand, though I immediately missed that heavy, warm weight on my shoulder. “But I hope the radio helps, I too would like something to listen to during the day. Perhaps it will create an atmosphere.”

“I-It will, it definitely will.” I laughed, getting to my feet, casting one more glance down at the radio, still playing away. “You try to rest too, okay? If you’re going to be flying around tomorrow like you were today, you’ll need your energy.”

“I will try to do so. Goodnight, Nonna.”

“Night, B.”

As my bedroom door closed, and my sheets rustled quietly around me as I settled down to sleep, I soon realised that I could still hear the radio downstairs, playing away, lulling me slowly into the easiest sleep I’d had in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sap okay?
> 
> Last break before the ball. Get focken ready.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to Its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This uh.
> 
> This chapter is fucking 47 pages long. Just so you guys know. But don't worry!! Some real juicy shit is about to go down.
> 
> Recommended Song: Peter Gabriel's version of "Heroes." When Nonna leaves the ball. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Morning.

I woke up rather abruptly to the melodic sound of the downstairs radio seeping up through the floorboards of my room, accompanied by the far _less_ pleasant noise coming from my stomach. A gurgling and a groaning, all accompanied by a sudden surge of nausea, so intense that I _choked_ on it.

“Oh… Fuck.”

I barely made it to the bathroom in time.

After sitting slumped beside the lavatory for a few, humiliating minutes, I dragged myself, zombie-like, back out to my bed only to find that my bedroom door had swung open and Pudding had walked in, carrying a pot of tea on a tray.

“Good morning. Horrible news on the radio just now, apparently the far North has been subjected to a bombardment of attacks from a group of Fallen. The North is your neck of the woods isn’t i… Oh my! Nonna! Are you alright?”

“Yeah, _fantastic.”_

“Oh Gods, don’t tell me… You… Augh. You’ve got a stomach upset? On the day of the ball!” Pudding groaned, setting down his tray and placing a hand at the small of my back so that he could help me back into bed. “What rotten luck… Stay there, I’ll get you some water.”

I was left alone once again, with nothing but my gurgling stomach for company. Sighing in frustration, I rubbed at my temples lamely, trying to soothe an oncoming headache. Attacks in the North, huh? Oh, of course.  
By the time Pudding returned, I was well on my way to just falling back asleep. My body was going through _something,_ that was for sure, I could feel it in the way my stomach twisted and churned and how my skin smarted with the promise of a fever and the horrid ache that came with sickness. Had I eaten something bad? It certainly felt like it.  
Pudding sat at the edge of my bed, his cool hand soon resting atop my burning forehead, I sighed at the relief, a noise that he returned before setting his hand back in his lap. 

“I can see that you’re shaken up,” he said carefully, handing me the water he’d brought, “drink that, give your body a chance to figure itself out. Don’t worry too much, Nonna, if I’m not very much mistaken, this shouldn’t last long.”

I flicked my poor, aching eyes up to him, a look that sat between a grimace and the promise of tears spreading across my face as I took a gulp. The cold water worked its magic, soothing my tense throat.

“What could you possibly mean by that?” I asked hoarsely, my fingers gripping the glass a little too hard, I had to be careful here, very, _very_ careful. “Pudding. Pudding, listen to me. Who did you work for when you were summoned away from Gloriville?”

Pudding didn’t reply, instead a look of concern soon overtook him, and he gave me the once-over before getting to his feet.

“It seems that you’re a tad delirious. Let me get you a wet cloth for your forehead, don’t stop drinking that water, let yourself ride it out, Nonna.”

At this, he bent down towards me once again, his hand coming to rest on my sore shoulder, ignoring the way I winced, even at the slightest pressure.

“Your coach is at three, you have plenty of time to let it mellow out. We _need_ to put a word in somewhere, Nonna, we cannot keep serving food with no money, and considering how dismal our footfall is…”

“I’ll be fine,” I replied faintly, finishing off my water with a wet and painful gulp, “I’ll be able to go to this damned ball. Just let me go back to sleep, okay?”

“You should eat.”

“I’ll eat later. Just… Get me that cloth, please?”

He paused, apparently trying to think of something else to say, but in the end even he appeared to realise that it was better to let it lie, and let it lie he did. As he left once again, I allowed my eyes to slip closed, trying to think of _anything_ but how utterly wrecked my body felt.

Ride it out.

-

A few hours later I woke up with a small start, breathing heavily as if I’d been winded. Had I been dreaming again? God only knew, but what _I_ knew for certain was that my stomach no longer felt as if it were a cement mixer, though I could still feel my head smarting softly with a dull ache. On the whole, however, things were far better than they had been earlier.  
Sighing with relief, I sat up in bed, only to find myself suddenly accosted with two things. One was the most horrendous head rush which left me almost blinded by the dazzling lights that popped out in front of my eyes, the second was the hand upon my shoulder, a warm hand who’s metal components clicked with the faintest of movement.

“Nonna?”

 _”B,_ Jesus,” I sighed, laying back onto my pillow with a thud, taking the cyborg’s huge hand down with me, “you scared me, I didn’t see you there for a second. What’s going on? Uh, no wait, what time is it?”

“Two minutes past one exactly,” he said sharply, as if he were counting the very seconds, “were you seeing things in your sleep just now? I have found myself doing the same recently. You were moving about and even talking on occasion, though I could not quite make out the language, it sounded to me as if it were a mixture.”

“Ah. Yeah I do that,” I said with a snort, resting my free hand on my stomach, as if to check that it was still well and truly settled, “I know a few languages besides English, but they all share similarities to Russian, so when I’m asleep or _drunk,_ I tend to mash them all together, also!”

I fixed him with a somewhat amused stare, the corner of my mouth twitching with the promise of a smile, a simple action that still felt a little unusual to me. 

“’Seeing things in my sleep’? That’s called _dreaming,_ B and everyone does it, including you.”

B-52 shook his head, leaning towards me slightly, though his body was kept at an odd angle owing to the fact that he was very reluctant to remove his hand from my shoulder. I was grateful for the gesture, though the sickness had left my body, I was still in a vulnerable mood.

“Negative, Nonna. These strange night visions are a very recent occurrence for me. I have never experienced anything like them before, but now I see things all the time, dark rooms; strange voices; someone breaking furniture. None of them make any sense, honestly they are a _nuisance.”_

“I… What?”

I stared at him, suddenly stiff as a board, my skin abruptly clammy to the touch, lost in an alarming surge of my own panic. So strong was the sensation that I did not immediately register the fact that I had clamped my hand down onto B-52’s, my fingers pressing harder and harder into the metal until I saw him shift, and his face quickly crease into an unmistakeable _wince._

“Nonna, that… Hurts.”

“Fuck! Sorry, s-sorry!” I breathed, releasing him and struggling to sit up once again. “B, regarding your dreams, c-can you tell me anything else about them? Anything would help, they… Sound like they’re really troubling you, what did you say about furniture?”

B-52 gave me a quizzical look, flexing the fingers of the hand I had squeezed, perhaps to get whatever circulation he had working again. He tilted his head up towards the ceiling once more; that single dark eye narrowing as he thought.

“I wish I could give you a clear account, but everything I have experienced has been muffled or fogged.” He said carefully, and though he kept his head elevated, that eye angled itself down to me, keeping me in his immediate line of sight. “However. I am often plagued with anger while _’dreaming,’_ a primal sensation as if someone close to me has gravely wounded me, or betrayed my trust. It is not a pleasant sensation, nor is it one that I have experienced often.”

“I… Hm, right.” I muttered, my heart fluttering against my chest, distressed, afraid.

“Though the furniture may be a fragment of my memory,” B-52 piped up, nodding his head as if reasoning with himself, “only once have I been so emotionally charged that I destroyed a piece of furniture. A particularly… _Trying_ time of my life.”

I took a breath.

“B, it’s just that I had a dream a few nights ago…”

My bedroom door swung open with a creak, and Pudding’s red and furious face soon appeared, his apron – dusted with flour – slung over his right arm.

“B-52 Cocktail! For the sake of the Gods, stop sneaking up here to see your Master, we have customers today!” He cried in exasperation, storming into the room and shooing the enormous cyborg away from my bed. “Look at her, she is _just fine,_ but in less than two hours she needs to leave for the coach station! She has a _ball_ to get dressed for! Go on, off with you.” 

B-52 stiffened, half clambering, half scrambling up from the floor, and for a split second the rather amusing image of a very large cat flashed through my mind; skittering away from whatever its owner had told it to leave be. It was a marvel how a man as small as Pudding could draw such a reaction from someone like B-52.

With one last look towards my bed, the cyborg slunk out of the door, hunching his shoulders and bowing his head so he could fit under the frame. As soon as his great, thudding footsteps had disappeared down the restaurant’s stairs, Pudding moved towards me, his hands clasped neatly yet nervously in front of him.

“It’s over.” He said to me. “It ceased about an hour ago. How are you feeling?”

I glanced up at him sourly, my eyes almost daring him to say more, a look that must have shown very clearly on his face, for he bowed his head, shooting me a smile as a peace offering. 

“Better, I can see that.” He said with a laugh, moving across the room so he could open up my wardrobe, bringing out my dress with a flourish. “Now then. I believe that Madam Hotdog gave you a make up pallet, did she not? I think it best to do your make up now before you put on the dress, best to avoid the risk of dirtying it where we can since you’re hiring it. Do you want me to take your rollers out for you?”

“My r… Oh! Jesus,” I muttered, my hand flying up to my hair, remembering with a jolt that I’d put in rollers the night before, “that explains why my head feels like it’s in a vice. Umn, don’t make a fuss about the rollers, Pudding, it’s the make up I’m worried about, I’ve never found a pallet that suits me, or maybe it’s just how I apply it.”

Pudding laughed, an odd yet heart warming noise that I wished I heard from him more often, with a small jerk, he pulled my dress out of its protective plastic casing, shaking it out in order to banish any stray wrinkles.

“That is where you are in luck, Nonna,” he said kindly, reaching inside my wardrobe to retrieve the discarded pallet, “I have been the servant of many wealthy ladies throughout my life, the majority of whom would ask me to apply their cosmetics for them. You’re in very capable hands if you would let me help you?”

I stared at him, and soon enough felt my face morph itself into another grin; it was strange yet fitting to imagine Pudding at the side of a young, wealthy lady, dabbing rouge onto her cheeks as she admired herself in her hand mirror.

“Yeah, alright then.” I said, swinging my legs over the side of my bed, that odd spark of inspiration yet again flickering hopefully inside my stomach. “I’m just going to shower, get that nasty _sick_ feeling off of me. But honestly, Pudding, if you can make _me_ look good, I won’t hesitate to call you a damn magician.”

“I appreciate your concerns, Nonna,” Pudding soothed, bringing out my shoes for the evening to set them beneath the dress, everything ready, everything in order, “but compared to some of the ladies I have waited on in the past, you will be a _breeze._ Go on now, get yourself cleaned up, we have an hour and a half.”

-

Though it felt oddly nice to be dressed up and made up, after it was all done, and Pudding was satisfied, I found myself glad that this would be a one-off occasion; the fact that the shoes Hotdog had picked out for me had a slight heel didn’t exactly help matters. Embarrassingly, I had to hold on to Pudding on my way down the stairs and even then I still tottered down them, embarrassed to find that my ankles just weren’t used to having no support around them whatsoever.

“I don’t know how people do this,” I muttered to him as we entered the dining room, “day after day, some people even _work_ in high heels for God’s sake.”

Fortunately for me, the dining room was completely empty save for one table beside the front window, and even they seemed to be thinking about paying the bill. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, Tempura emerged from the kitchen, his amber eyes shining and his face split in a wide smile.

“Look what we have here!” He boomed, placing both his massive hands upon his equally massive hips. “You’re gonna turn heads, Master! I’d bet money on it!”

 _“’What we have here’_ is all Pudding,” I laughed, gesturing to my face, remembering just how surprised _I’d_ been upon seeing a completely different woman gaping back at me as I’d looked into my mirror, “I don’t know how he did it, I actually have _colour_ in my cheeks!”

Still beaming, Tempura turned his head to yell into the kitchen.

“Oy! Big guy! Come out here, wait till you see what Pudding’s done to the Master!”

Strangely enough, I felt a knot forming in my stomach as B-52’s massive silhouette appeared in the kitchen doorway, it seemed that Pudding’s earlier scolding had subdued him enough to keep him from coming out. Noticing this, I offered him a small smile, feeling the false eyelashes that Pudding had applied brushing my cheeks as I blinked.

“B? Come on, I can’t leave without saying goodbye to you.” I called, my voice eerily tender. God, I’d have to remedy _that,_ but my encouragement had done its job, and B-52 soon slunk out from the kitchen, the joints in his neck clicking musically as he tilted his head, surveying Pudding’s handiwork.

“I’ve never seen you in a dress.” He said shortly, blinking his one working eye rapidly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “You look different, Nonna… You look happy.”

“Well, yeah,” I laughed, glancing down at myself briefly, taking in the odd sight of seeing a floating dress in the place of my usual worn apron and scuffed work shoes, “that’s because I actually look human rather than some tired old meat sack. Bit of a shock isn’t it?”

“Mnh.” He muttered, glancing away from me, a hand coming up to rub his opposite upper arm. It was a strange thing to witness, he looked almost _bashful,_ it really wasn’t like him at all… 

“Come along then,” Pudding’s voice sounded by my ear, and he linked his arm with mine, more for support than anything else, “you aren’t putting a word in for the restaurant standing around here. Your coach leaves in half an hour, luckily for you, the coach station is only a few minutes up the street.”

B-52 suddenly stiffened, and he surged forwards.

“I’m coming with you to the station.” He said firmly, glancing down at the tiny Magic Soul standing beside me. “Pudding, would you mind if I took Nonna instead? I do not wish to leave Tempura alone with the restaurant and the clientele.”

“Gee. Thoughtful of you.” Came Tempura’s sullen voice from behind him; Pudding seemed to hesitate for a moment, before nodding his head and releasing my arm from his hold.

“If you insist, B-52, in terms of fighting off any Fallen, you’re easily the most capable Soul here. Besides, I’m confident that Nonna would rather go with you, I can’t imagine she wants to have me fussing over her the whole way there.”

“Oh now, Pudding…” I began, but his hand on my shoulder soon quietened me.

“Have a wonderful time,” he said with a smile, moving that same hand up to brush a strand of hair from my forehead, “an occasion like this is one to be celebrated, however heavily you may dislike Spaghetti, you are still his guest, and for one night at least you will be his and his staff’s priority. So enjoy it, hm?”

I sighed, defeated, I knew that there was no hope in trying to argue with him, but I also knew that I would always have an axe to grind with Spaghetti, no matter how well he treated me.

“I’ll try, that’s all I can do. Right then, I’ll see you all tomorrow, okay?” 

-

Despite their rather merciful heel, the shoes were still _Hell_ to walk in, I had no idea how I could ever hope to dance in them, but Pudding had been right in saying that the coach station was only a few minutes away, up the cobbled street in a part of Gloriville that I’d only ever seen once, and it had just been a series of small, deserted buildings then, as well as being shrouded in darkness.

Today however, it was loaded with horse drawn carriages and the odd quaint little car, drivers dressed in sharp uniforms bustled about this way and that, closing doors and readying the horses for their journeys, in amongst them and the noise lingered a tiny handful of guests, all dressed up to the eyeballs just like I was. As B-52 and I approached the station, I was quick to notice just how eager people were to move out of our way, and I couldn’t help but smile; of course they would scarper, B-52 was at least a foot taller than everyone else here, and the look on his face didn’t help to form positive first impressions. Judging by the way he was glaring around, it was clear that he thought everyone and everything here meant me harm in some way. 

I was just about to politely ask if he could calm his nerves, when an accented voice sounded from somewhere to my right, shouting a name I’d only heard once before.

“BiFi! Hey, hey! BiFi! Over here!”

With a groan of metal, B-52’s head snapped around and upon following his gaze, I soon caught sight of who had shouted. The man who had called out to us was waving from a nearby carriage, dressed in that familiar, tomato red, fork-emblazoned uniform, though his sturdy build and confident air was a stark contrast to the spindly Limoncello’s nervous, wavering one.  
Everything about him from his weathered hands to the worn toes of his boots put me in mind of an experienced farm hand; indeed, only his dirty blond hair – which had been carefully styled and swept over one side of his head – looked neat, and even then I suspected that _that_ had been a very last-minute touch up.

As we approached him, his green eyes soon flicked down from B-52’s massive height to meet mine, and once we were close enough he stuck out one of those calloused, weather-beaten hands in my direction for me to shake. Beside me, I felt B-52 stiffen, as if even this normal, friendly gesture had a hidden motive. Really, I didn’t know why he was so on edge…

“You must be Attendant Noyabrina! Lovely to make your acquaintance finally.” He laughed, a loud and boisterous sound, though strangely enough I could hear a slightly forced quality to it too. However, I was willing to put it aside for now, at the very least his accent was warm and far softer than the crisp, official tone Panettone had used with me. “Name’s Fettuccine! I’ll be driving you to Nevras this afternoon, and don’t you worry about the length of the journey, Panettone may have been exaggerating over the phone. Besides! I know plenty of short cuts along the way, I’ll have you there in no time!”

“I didn’t think I would see you here, Fettuccine.” B-52’s sour voice came from above me, sending a chill jittering its way up my spine, “I didn’t think your Master cared enough about Nonna to send one of his staff to bring her to his ball.”

Fettuccine glanced up to meet B-52’s gaze, and I found myself admiring the way he remained collected, he was perhaps the first person – human or Food Soul – I had met who was able to look the enormous cyborg in the eye without flinching.

“You’d be surprised.” He said with an oddly regretful sigh, one that was quickly replaced with that warmth as he turned back to me. “In any case, we’d best leave promptly, Attendant Noyabrina. Oh, ah! And I should mention that you are sharing this carriage with one other passenger, but not to worry, he’s been sound asleep ever since he sat down. Can’t think what he must’ve been doing to end up that tired.”

“Ah, alright…” I replied hastily, though I didn’t move, somehow – indescribably – I knew that I had to say a proper goodbye to B-52 before I left. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, is that okay?”

Fettuccine cocked a blond eyebrow, his bright eyes flitting between B-52 and I before offering me a charming, yet clearly rehearsed smile.

“’Course.” He said shortly, turning and marching back to the carriage, pausing as he did so to rub both of his horse’s snouts, grinning as they eagerly leaned into the fuss.

Faced with the rather grim prospect of a long and very rocky journey, I turned to look up at B-52, offering him a smile that I hoped would both comfort and reassure him of my safety. It probably wouldn’t help at all, but it was all I could think to do.

“B, listen, I’ll be okay, alright? It’s only a one-off,” I said, blowing a strand of carefully styled hair out of my eyes, “besides, this is good for the restaurant, if not then… Maybe Pudding’s idea of sending you out to do deliveries isn’t such a bad idea, huh? Haha…”

I laughed, but for whatever reason I just couldn’t get it to sound genuine, there was an odd, crawling feeling in my stomach, and for a horrible moment I wondered if I was going to vomit again before I realised that this feeling was different. It was warmer, easier to adapt to, as if something was wrapping itself around my heart and lungs, spreading its warmth through my body like the roots of a tree, intertwining and locking together, forming a protective barrier almost. It was such a strange, yet utterly encompassing, overwhelming feeling, that for a few moments I was completely stunned by it, and the odd pained look B-52 kept giving me seemed to make the whole thing ever stronger.  
He looked strained, reluctant, as if he were physically holding himself back from saying something, the whole display earned a frown from me, and I cocked my head inquisitively. 

“What’s wrong, B? Please don’t stop yourself,” I said, pencilled eyebrows contracted together, “what’s on your mind? I lot, I bet… Hah, and it’s all because of me, isn’t it?”

There were a few, very tense moments, in which the two of us did nothing but stand completely still, waiting for the other to say or do something, waiting for… Well who knew, really?

From behind me, I heard Fettuccine call from the carriage, and that sharp sound finally seemed to get through to the cyborg as if it were a starting gun. With a small intake of breath, he suddenly bent down towards me, and before I’d even had a chance to realise what was happening, I felt his great hands encase my shoulders and the quaint yet gentle bump of his mouth clumsily meeting mine.

Behind us, I heard Fettuccine call for me again, except this time the words petered out and soon vanished altogether, apparently he’d noticed that his second passenger was a little _preoccupied._

It was all so strange to think of now, of just how adamant I had been about avoiding this, about locking my heart away, not to mention how I had scared myself out of seeing anyone as anything other than a friend ever again. Yet now – in a weird yet wonderful way – I found that kissing B-52 was undoubtedly the easiest thing I had done since arriving in Tierra. 

Deep within me, something was stirring, it was as if I were a disused oil lamp that someone had finally decided to light, to burn away the dust and give it a chance to _shine_ for all to see. I wondered if B-52 felt the same way, God I hoped so… I truly did.  
Sighing softly, I allowed my mouth to move in response to his and sweetly encouraged him to essentially use me as his guinea pig, to slowly begin to work out what he had to do, to discover that though his lips were far too rough and mine were far too soft, they fit together in an odd yet perfect way, the same way in which my hands fitted on either side of his jaw, and the same way his slid into position around my waist. 

Then the world all came back to me in a startling rush of colour and noise as I pulled away, the faintest hint of coffee lingering in my mouth. I flitted my eyes up to look into his face, and immediately began to laugh as I realised that I’d left my mark in the shape of several lipstick smudges decorating his mouth.

“S-Sorry, sorry,” I gabbled out, gesturing to the mess, “you’ve got…”

B-52 brought a hand up to touch his mouth, his working eye fully dilated, looking more than a little punch drunk, however that stunned look didn’t last long and he finally broke the silence with a tiny, hesitant laugh.

“There is no need to apologise, I initiated it,” he said, smiling widely, _genuinely,_ “I shall wear these marks with pride, Nonna.”

I felt a jolt in my stomach then, a strong and almost irresistible urge to ditch this stupid fucking ball and stay here with him, and I would’ve succumbed, good God I would have, if it weren’t for Fettuccine calling yet again from the carriage behind me.

“Attendant Noyabrina! Really gotta insist that we go! I’m gonna have to leave without you if…”

“Alright!” I called over my shoulder, my voice laced with annoyance, turning jerkily so I could make my way to the carriage, but I glanced back at B-52 one last time, my cheeks glowing, my eyes dewy. “B? I’ll see you when I get back, okay?”

B-52 stood stock still, his jaw set; a sight that would’ve been utterly terrifying had it not been for the lipstick still smudged around his mouth. 

“I am… Missing you already.” He said stiffly, as if it had taken him a few moments to properly word the phrase.

That jolt came again.

“I’m going to miss you like Hell too,” I replied, my tone alight with emotion, thick with the chance of tears, “really I am. Bye, B, please keep an eye on things while I’m gone.”

With that, I stepped up into the carriage.

-

The journey was just as I had feared; the carriage didn’t exactly have much leg room, especially not for two people, and the less said about the constant jerking and bumping we suffered from the rocky paths the better. If my thoughts hadn’t been so firmly stuck on B-52 Cocktail, and the way those giant yet gentle hands had so carefully held me, I probably would’ve found myself choking back a retch again.

I sat wedged into a corner of the carriage, my elbow rested on the hard wooden ledge of the window, eyes glazed over, letting the Gloriville countryside pass me by.  
I had been fully prepared to feel the inevitable _tug_ of guilt, like a rope of thorns playing havoc with the soft lining of my stomach, but to my great surprise it never came. Instead, that whole, warm feeling took a while to leave me, it lingered on throughout my entire body, like the last traces of sweet perfume touched to one’s neck, or droplets from a recent shower of rain still clinging stubbornly to the leaves of the trees. Whatever this was, it sat comfortably in my chest for quite some time, and in a strange yet endearing way, I could quite clearly picture the feeling, a warm, secure swaddling wrapping itself around me, cushioning my heart and lungs, so much so that I didn’t want it to fade. Any other day I would’ve no doubt been horrified by such a sensation, but today I _welcomed_ it, and the way it seemed to ebb and flow like the tide each time I let my mind wonder back to the kiss B-52 and I had shared, it truly was a dreamlike state, blissful and undisturbed.

At least, it was until a particularly large pothole in the road jerked me out of my reverie.

Thoroughly annoyed, I glared out of the window, hoping that the sights outside would lull me back into that peaceful state, but the road was growing rougher still, and soon enough I found myself focusing entirely on keeping my still weak stomach under control. Watching the scenery pass me by was a small saving grace, though the longer I watched, the more I thought back to something Pudding had once said to me. Compared to this stretch of countryside, the part of Gloriville where I and so many other Cooking Attendants had been housed really wasn’t the best place in Tierra, far from it. I now realised that there was a whole country out here to explore, alive with culture and new experiences, and yet my dreary existence in the restaurant often made me feel as if that was all I had, that the bleak houses and those cold, cobbled streets were all there was in the world…

Eventually, and to my deep dismay, I realised that looking out of the window just wasn’t enough to keep my boredom at bay, and I soon found myself wishing that I’d brought a book, and perhaps the restaurant radio would’ve been nice too. I would’ve appreciated someone to talk to, but my fellow passenger certainly wasn’t about to help alleviate my boredom with any conversation, he had been sound asleep since we had left Gloriville.

Curious, I now took the time to look him over, as well as stifle a laugh at the way his large, round glasses had slipped down his nose with the motion of the carriage, so much so that they were in real danger of falling off of his face completely.  
He looked to be dressed for the ball just as I was, though he had chosen a slightly simpler style of a brown two piece suit, as well as a jacket that he’d folded over his knees, overall his choice of outfit was far plainer than the layers of powder blue fabric I had chosen to truss myself up in. I hoped that I wouldn’t end up looking overdressed.

For whatever reason, it took me a little longer than usual to deduce that this man was a Food Soul, probably – I decided- because his face was shrouded in the gloom of the carriage. For a moment I thought of waking him – at least to tell him that his glasses were now definitely hanging off of his nose – but as another jolt bounced me in my seat, I decided against it, anyone who was tired enough to sleep through _this_ sort of turbulence truly needed rest. That, and there was something small yet insistent nagging away at me, something that told me quite clearly; waking him up would be a truly foolish idea.

The moment that thought flashed through my mind, he shifted in his sleep, his head rolling sideways onto his shoulder, eyelids pulled up ever so slightly so that I could just make out the tiniest sliver of a brilliant white sclera, almost _glowing_ in the poor light of the carriage.

I shivered.

Then with a shudder, the carriage came to a complete stop, and outside I heard the horses scuffing their hooves and snorting. I glanced about curiously, squinting outside, it certainly didn’t look like we were in Nevras. I could hear more movement outside now, as well as the gentle rumble of Fettuccine’s voice, had we stopped for a break perhaps? How long had we been travelling exactly? Well, I could do with stretching my legs, now that I thought about it, and the less time I spent inside this carriage with this man the better.

Shoving open the carriage door with my shoulder, I stepped out into the cold winter sunshine, the sun’s rays already weak and waning as the day grew older, I could tell that it would probably be completely dark by the time we reached Nevras. Out in the open, I could now see that we had stopped on a wide bank beside a small stream, and that the horses were indeed taking a break; they stood just inches away from the bank’s edge, necks bent as they eagerly drank up the icy water, their long and course tails flicking occasionally. Beside them, Fettuccine was busy checking their reins, or at least that was what he was attempting to do, but as I watched him I couldn’t help but notice his vacant eyes, and the way his hands kept slipping as he worked, clumsy and distracted. It was more than enough to prompt me to call out to him.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Clearly completely immersed in a world of his own, Fettuccine jumped and the horse closest to him let out a thoroughly displeased snort, swaying its head this way and that, clearly a little spooked by its handler’s jittery mood. 

“I-I ah, w-well hello, Attendant Noyabrina!” He called, his voice as jerky as the paths we had taken. “Is everything alright in the carriage?”

“Things are just fine, it’s _you_ I’m worried about,” I said, moving to walk across to him before remembering that it would be a truly stupid idea to walk around the back of a horse, “you look ever so shaken up. Do you get travel sick?”

Fettuccine didn’t reply, instead he leant back from me, his square jaw set, and the silence that stretched on between us was long enough to earn a frown from me, what was going on? This man was easily twice my size in bulk alone, why was he acting like this? Backing away and wringing his hands like that, it was almost as if he were cowering, for heaven’s sake.

A flutter of panic started up in my chest.

I held up my hands with a sigh. “Fine, whatever, I’ll go back to the carriage, sorry to bother you.”

“No, no wait,” my driver mumbled, blowing a loose lock of hair out of his eyes, wiping the sweat from his moustache with a flick, “I’m sorry, I _do_ get travel sick, quite badly if I’m real honest. I don’t normally drive the carriages this far. The only reason I’m out today is because everyone else is busy bringing in guests from elsewhere.”

I frowned. “So… They sent you out here to do a long haul like this? That’s pretty bad management, I don’t blame you for feeling ill though, these roads are enough to make anyone sick.”

Fettuccine shrugged his massive shoulders, but to my relief I heard a tiny laugh rumble through him, a reluctant, shaky sound, but it was still a laugh.

“You should sit inside,” he said, “it’s gonna get colder out here.”

“Not for me, the cold doesn’t really trouble me.” I replied, the prospect of being stuffed back into the carriage with that creepy Food Soul was incredibly unattractive. Eager to find a way around this, I glanced up to the driver’s seat, and my tone became slightly sweeter as an idea came to my head. “Don’t suppose I could sit with you up there, could I? It’s pretty stuffy in that carriage, you won’t be the only one feeling sick if you keep me cooped up in there.”

Fettuccine bit his lip, and once again he seemed to shy away from me, a tense breath rattling through him as he thought my proposal over.

“Yeah, okay. If it’ll keep you from puking in my carriage,” he said gruffly, chancing an uneasy smile at me, “guess it will also keep you away from that Food Soul, huh?”

“I suppose so,” I said, frowning, “what’s his deal, anyway? He’s been sound asleep since we left, it’s been ages.”

“Don’t know, don’t care, and don’t want to find out.” Fettuccine shrugged, making his way back to the carriage. “He’s some business associate of the Master’s, I don’t get involved. Anyway, hop to, Attendant, we’re not that far away from the border.”

-

To my dismay, riding atop the carriage wasn’t much better than being cooped up inside it, at least inside I was far less likely to be bounced out of my seat and onto the dirt path below, but the chilly air kept my stomach calm, and for that I was grateful. Fettuccine had been quite right, we hadn’t been far from the border at all, and soon enough I breathed a sigh of great relief as the dirt road evened out into asphalt, merciful, smooth asphalt. However, that relief was only temporary, as I soon found myself half awed, half appalled by the buildings lining the road we were travelling along.

As much as I hated to admit it, this place really did make Gloriville look shabby, everywhere I looked there were multi-storey houses, giant windows; pebble dashed walls; porches with pillars; some of these places even had _gates_ for God’s sake! Masses upon masses of black, wrought iron all sealed tightly shut with enormous padlocks, through which I could just make out the silhouettes of expensive cars, gravelled driveways, and neatly trimmed hedgerows. It was as if I had suddenly been shoved back into the West, nothing about this place suggested that we were in Tierra at all, and that knowledge caused a sick, heavy weight to slowly form in my stomach.

“God, I could put _everything_ I have ever earned towards a place here, and I still wouldn’t be able to even _rent_ I bet,” I muttered to Fettuccine, “look at all of this, it’s ridiculous.”

Fettuccine sent me a dry smile, his lips tightly pursed. “You think this is bad? Wait ‘till you see the estate.”

I dropped my head into my hands for all but a few seconds before the swaying of the carriage soon forced me to sit up again, it was probably best not to sit with my eyes closed for too long. As we moved further and further into Nevras, the worse things got, the multi-storey houses grew bigger, the décor grew more lavish, and as the night slowly drew in around us, I caught brief glimpses of the odd crystal chandelier clicking on through some of the vast windows, flooding the enormous rooms with golden light, highlighting the silhouettes of their owners as they flitted about, going about their normal business. 

Normal business, this was all _normal_ to them, wasn’t it?

“Almost there.” Fettuccine muttered to me, nudging me lightly with his shoulder, his head cocking to the side. “Look.”

I followed his gaze, and immediately felt my jaw drop.

“You _can’t_ be serious.”

In the distance atop a hill, a behemoth of a manor house was slowly coming into view, illuminated by the many lit windows set into its white face, it towered above the other houses set into the hill leading up to it, practically _dwarfing_ them. The closer we got, the worse it all became and the more the house revealed to me just how much grandeur Spaghetti was used to, it also explained just where that nasty, entitled attitude of his had come from. It was almost alarming just how much this house revealed to me regarding him, so much so that I could conjure up a perfect picture in my head, a crystal clear image of him standing, straight-backed at one of those enormous windows, his hands behind his back, a smirk playing about that stupid mouth of his.

“Fuck me…” I breathed, steadily craning my neck more and more the closer we got, trying to get the whole thing into view. The estate loomed up towards us, a monstrous structure of white, all turrets and chimneys and balconies, the whole thing topped off with a flag fluttering madly in the wind. “Look at the size of this place, it’s… Actually giving me vertigo.”

“You sure you’re not getting cold?” Fettuccine asked, adjusting his position in his seat, the reins held tightly in his hands. “The estate’s on a pretty steep hill, it gets real breezy up there, and on a night like this…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I interrupted, my words punctuated with a derisive snort, “just the sight of this fucking place is making my blood boil. God, he’s _living it up_ out here, isn’t he? He has everything he could possibly want, all the money in the world, yet he had the _gall_ to try and shut down my restaurant because I wouldn’t give his favourite _’toy’_ back to him. The nerve of him, what a fucking _child.”_

Fettuccine glanced sideways at me, his expression unreadable.

“Can never be too sure about folk,” he said slowly, his voice almost lost to the wind whistling past us, “and goin’ back to the toy thing, um, about you and BiFi, how exactly did you…”

But before he could finish, a sharp shout came travelling on the wind towards us, and as we both looked up, I realised that we had more or less reached the main gates, and someone was waiting for us at the top step by the gargantuan double doors, their lithe silhouette illuminated by the many lit windows that shone behind them, a sea of lights in that towering structure, dark against the winter sky.

“That’s Panettone,” Fettuccine said gruffly, clicking his tongue and pulling on the reigns, bringing both horses to a slow walk, “she’ll see you inside, we’re actually kinda early, I don’t think everyone is here yet. Told you she’d over-exaggerated the time.”

He appeared to be right, aside from our carriage now crunching its way across the gravelled courtyard, the place was almost completely deserted. Still deeply unhappy with the crude display of wealth laid out before me, I instead chose to focus my attention on the Food Soul striding before us. Panettone – despite how sharp her voice had sounded over the phone – looked kindly and approachable in person, she wore the same, smart shade of red donned by the rest of Spaghetti’s staff, though the way in which she carried herself across the courtyard told me quite clearly that she outranked both Limoncello and Fettuccine by quite a considerable amount. 

Once she had reached us, her face immediately split into a smile, her pearly white teeth and warm golden eyes standing out against her dark skin, and she offered a hand to me to help me down from the carriage, which I gratefully took.

“Attendant Noyabrina,” she chirped, shaking the hand she had taken heartily once my feet had met the ground, “we’re so glad that you could make it, how was the journey? I trust Fettuccine looked after you well?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah he did,” I replied, glancing back up at Fettuccine, only to find that he was far too busy with the horses to notice my compliment, “he knew how to get me here earlier than expected anyway, I’m not putting you out by being early, am I?”

“Of course not! Don’t be silly,” Panettone soothed, releasing my hand before tilting her head towards the entrance, “a few other guests are here too, though I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little until dinner is served. However, we can offer you champagne and show you to your place at the table in the meantime, if you would make your way up the stairs there, Panna Cotta will take you through to the dining room.”

“Um, alright.”

Completely out of my depth, I left Panettone at the foot of the steps and began the slow, rather tedious ascent up to the main doors, at which another person was waiting for me. I turned back with every intention to call out to Fettuccine again to thank him, only to find that he had already driven off, leaving his other passenger behind. The brunette, bespectacled man was very clearly awake now, and chatting quietly to Panettone, his long coat slung over his shoulders, making him appear taller than he actually was. For some reason, the conversing Food Souls both gave off the distinct impression that they did not want to be observed or interrupted. 

I decided to give them the privacy they wanted. 

The Food Soul waiting for me, _’Panna Cotta’,_ was a much smaller woman than Panettone, and everything from her flushed cheeks to her wide, cherry red eyes, to the way she fidgeted slightly where she stood, also told me that she had even less experience than her fellow colleagues. As I approached her, she _tried_ to smile as confidently as Panettone had done and when she spoke, I almost smiled at the oddly comforting familiarity in her obviously rehearsed words.

“Good evening, Madam Attendant Noyabrina! My name is Panna Cotta, I hope you enjoy your stay with us this evening, may I take your bag to the cloakroom?”

“Oh umn. Yeah, if it isn’t too much trouble.” I muttered, pulling my bag off of my shoulder, realising that bringing a rucksack into a place like this probably wouldn’t give off the best first impression. Tugging open the zip, I plunged my hand inside to quickly retrieve my wallet, yet I soon came to the alarming realisation that I _couldn’t feel it._ Panicked, I peered inside, until I remembered with a crash of relief, that I had left it in my wardrobe back at the restaurant. Even so, it still felt strange to be without it, and more importantly the picture I kept inside of it.

Well, there wasn’t much I could do about it now.

“Limoncello will see you through to the dining room,” Panna Cotta was saying, leading me inside, my bag now held neatly in her dainty hands, though no matter how hard she tried to hide it, I could still see a small yet distinct tremor jittering through her, “please let me know if you want me to retrieve your bag for you at any point throughout the evening.”

I watched her quickly scurry off down a flight of stairs somewhere to my right in a flash of ginger hair. I watched her go with a frown forming between my eyebrows, wondering what on earth had got her in such a state, but the sight of the hall I had walked into soon stole all thoughts of Panna Cotta from me in a flash.  
Everywhere I looked there was a pillar, or an oil painting, or a set of grand lights hanging from a ceiling in shimmering bulks of tiny crystals, so bright that every surface _glittered._ Despite the initial feeling of deep disgust, I couldn’t help being swayed slightly by the sheer grandeur of it all, and as I took my first few steps into the hall, I realised that I was walking up a strip of rich, red carpet, rolled out in front of me, stretching out for as far as I could see. I smiled a little, shaking my head in disbelief, but perhaps just for a night I could pretend that it had been rolled out for me. 

“Attendant Noyabrina?” 

It was Limoncello; he had appeared out of a doorway to my far right, a stack of menus held tightly in his hands. In stark contrast to the mess of nerves he had been at my restaurant, he looked much more at home set against this backdrop of wealth, and as I approached he sent me a dazzling smile, holding out a menu for me in a well manicured hand.

“Good to see you again,” he said, “please take a menu and kindly look for your name at the table, I’ll come around to check that everything is in order throughout the meal.”

I took the menu from him with a smile that I hoped would encourage him, despite his much more confident posture, I could still hear a quiver in his voice. 

The dining room was similarly built to the hallway, a monstrously huge space of marble and flagstones, mirrors and paintings yet again adorning every wall, and upon glancing up as I entered, I noticed the carved ceiling above me, masterfully painted with white and gold. A long, mahogany table groaning with cutlery, carefully arranged flowers and crystal champagne flutes took up most of the space, and the gentle buzz of talk from the small smattering of guests that were seated already filled the room.  
I heaved a sigh; I really couldn’t compare the sight to anything I’d experienced before, if was as if someone had decided to model an entire room off of a Faberge egg. Someone with far, far too much money on their hands.

Grim-faced, it didn’t take me long to spot Spaghetti; he was seated at the head of the table, resplendent in robes of deep red velvet trimmed with fur, laughing merrily with the well-dressed couple seated either side of him, the Lord and Lady of the house, perhaps? I had no way of knowing for sure, but they weren’t Food Souls, that much was for certain. There _was_ a Food Soul here however, I could see him seated beside a woman who I guessed was his Master, though I couldn’t make out his face too well as his head was bowed over the menu. I frowned, there was something about those spectacles and that haircut that reminded me of…

“Ah, may I show you to your seat, Attendant?”

I jumped, so violently that I almost fell out of my high heels, but it was only Limoncello, who now looked just about as frightened as I did. Spluttering out a hasty apology, he steered me towards the table; I hurried along as best I could, incredibly conscious of how loudly my shoes clattered across the flagstone floor, the sound echoed ominously throughout the room, and a few of the guests glanced up as I approached, their eyes all flying to me for a split second before they turned away again. 

The buzzing talk immediately dropped down to a hiss of low, hushed whispering. 

Mortified, I sat down in my seat, glancing about at the other people seated around me, none of them were looking at me, at least not for too long; those that did merely sent me glances before resuming their hushed conversations. At the head of the table, I realised that Spaghetti had noticed my arrival, and for a moment our eyes met, both of our faces stained with mutual dislike. I sank a little lower into my seat, my eyes narrowing and my hands balling into the soft chiffon of my dress, a peace offering, huh? More like he had brought me here to be the laughing stock of the party. Grumpily, I spared the tiny card propped up before me a glance of disdain, there in tiny, golden calligraphy I read; _”Noyabryna.”_

 _For fuck’s sake._

“Excuse me! Would you kindly move your chair?” 

Startled, I glanced up at the noise; above me, an elderly lady was glaring at me, her bony hand rested firmly on the back of her chair, rings glimmering on every finger. She was dressed from head to foot in a maroon silk dress, complete with leg of mutton sleeves and a corseted waist, everything about her from her made up face to her meticulously styled white hair told me that she had dug her gnarled fingers into what was left of her youth long ago, and was not about to let go any time soon. She _tsk’d_ impatiently, tugging on her chair. 

“Stop that daydreaming at once, girl, I cannot get to my seat! Kindly move your chair so that I can sit down, I’m not going to say it again.”

I looked down beneath the table, realising with a groan that her and my chair legs had somehow tangled themselves together, though that didn’t excuse her nasty tone.

“Give me a second,” I sighed, getting up from my chair, making short work of freeing her seat from mine, “there. Sorry about that, I was miles away.”

“Yes. I know you were.” She sniffed, dropping down into the chair, silk flying up in all directions. “You should pay more attention to your fellow guests.”

Fighting back the temptation to roll my eyes, I sat back down, realising as I did so that Limoncello and Panna Cotta were making the rounds of the table, each holding a bottle of champagne that was quickly emptied into every guest’s glass. I murmured a sombre thank you as Limoncello filled mine, and made incredibly quick work of taking a hearty swig, I’d need a _lot_ of this stuff if I was going to make it through this wretched thing.

“New money?”

Bewildered, I glanced to the side; the old lady was staring at me intently, a pair of thin-wired spectacles now balanced on her nose. At my clueless expression, she clicked her tongue again, shaking her head in despair.

“Not too bright, are you? I’m asking if you are new money, girl, only I’ve never seen you here, or around Nevras for that matter. Have you recently come into money?”

“O-Oh um.”

I faltered, finding myself struck with the rather alarming urge to _laugh,_ she really thought I was one of them. 

“I’m not ‘new money’, no,” I said, sipping from my flute, wondering if perhaps she would accept the answer I was about to give her, “I’m a Cooking Attendant from Gloriville. I was invited here, one night only, that’s why you’ve never seen me here before.”

“A _Cooking Attendant?”_ Exclaimed the lady, a raspy laugh rattling inside her chest, of course, laughter, exactly the reaction I had anticipated. “Goodness me. No wonder you look so out of place, I can’t imagine you’re used to this sort of function, are you?”

“Not at all,” I replied dryly, recognising that well-hidden insult for exactly what it was, “I can’t tell you just how homesick I am.”

“Hmph.” She sniffed, picking up her own glass, swirling the bubbling liquid about before taking a sip. “You’re lucky they choose to hold this event elsewhere. The venue we used to visit was far grander than this, but alas… The whole Kingdom is in ruins now, it is truly a sight for sore eyes.”

Thankfully she didn’t look or sound keen to continue the conversation after that, giving me time to take in my surroundings a little more, as well as grow accustomed to the people slowly but surely filling up the rest of the table. To my surprise, there weren’t as many guests as I had anticipated, and the way in which they spoke and reacted to one another put me in mind of family and very, very close friends. But why on earth would Spaghetti – the man who had so carelessly tried to strip me of everything I had – invite me to a dinner reserved for family and friends?

-

As the night wore on and the food was brought out, I did my best to act naturally, and do my best to ignore the war raging on and on inside my head, for neither side could come to a truce. Each time I gave in to one side and allowed myself to relax, the guilt from the other side set in, reminding me of the bleak future most Cooking Attendants faced in Gloriville, of the bleak future _I_ could have faced had I not had help from Zhouyun, Morag and especially Peking. The people around me were to thank for my success, if I hadn’t had that support, I sure as Hell wouldn’t be sitting here, in one of the grandest estates in Tierra.

In the end, the guilt triumphed, and the feeling subdued me for the rest of dinner, it even carried on into the evening of dancing that had been promised on the invitation. As the table was cleared away and a second, smaller one laden with desserts was laid out, the massive hall slowly but surely filled with dancing couples, husbands and wives they looked like, or at the very least they were courting each other. As I observed the supposedly happy scene, I felt a pang of regret in my stomach; what was I doing here? No one was going to talk to the nobody Cooking Attendant from Gloriville, let alone endorse my restaurant or me; this whole thing had been a colossal waste of my time and money. 

Well, at least no one back home would be able to say I hadn’t tried.

While the rest of the guests danced, I sat back from the action, occasionally reaching out to the dessert table in order to nab an éclair or two, or three, or four. Really, if there was anyone here who had saved my night, it was whoever had made these delicious desserts.

“Enjoying the éclairs?” Limoncello asked me at some point, his spindly hands laden with trays of champagne glasses, though everyone was far too busy dancing to take one from him, so I took the liberty of relieving him from quite a few of the crystal flutes.

“They’re absolutely magnificent,” I said to him, my mouth still half full of the aforementioned treat, “normally they’re far too doughy for me, but these are light as a feather! Are they a family recipe?”

The corner of Limoncello’s mouth trembled a tad with what I thought to be a smile, until I realised that his eyes were bright, and when his spoke his words were heavy and oddly tremulous.

“They ah… They’re our head chef’s recipe,” he said, and though he then smiled, it was a very watery one, “all of the food you’ve eaten tonight was from his menu. It isn’t every day you come across a Food Soul so talented with the culinary arts, despite being _food itself,_ a lot of us don’t actually dabble much in cooking here.”

“Oh!” I said, spotting an opportunity, as well as remembering the delicious meal I’d had earlier. “Can I meet him then? I’d love to thank him, and maybe get some advice! Also, if I’m honest with you, I’d love an excuse to get out of this hall, nobody’s going to dance with me.”

Limoncello stiffened, and the large trays atop his hands quivered so much that I was afraid he was going to drop them. I reached out a hand to take hold of one for him, but he drew away from me, shaking his head, his ponytail flicking this way and that.

“N-No, no I’m sorry, Attendant Noyabrina, but you cannot meet him,” he said, his voice still wavering, “he’s… He’s _terribly_ busy. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned anything about him. E… If you’ll please excuse me?”

Before I could say anything else, he darted away from me, his head bowed, not stopping once on his way to the door, ignoring several disgruntled dancers’ attempts to reach out for a champagne glass as he went.  
Utterly bewildered, I turned back to the spread before me, a very nasty feeling welling up within my chest. Busy, huh? But there was more than enough food here to feed the guests, what was this chef doing?

“Noyabrina? Attendant Noyabrina?”

I glanced up from the buffet table rather guiltily, I’d left quite a dent in the plate of éclairs after all, however I found myself greeted not by a pair of judgemental eyes, but by the sight of Panettone striding towards me, a tall and bespectacled man tailing behind her closely. It didn’t take me long to recognise him as the same Food Soul who I had shared the carriage with.

“Apologies for interrupting you,” Panettone said, nodding her head to me before gesturing a slender hand towards her companion, “but Mister Vita here was asking about you quite insistently, have you met before?”

“Only _very_ briefly…” I began, but Panettone had already swept away back onto the dance floor, weaving her way between waltzing couples towards the huge double doors, if I squinted, I could’ve sworn I saw the shadows of Panna Cotta, Fettuccine and Limoncello out in the hall, all gathered around one another. 

What on earth where they doing out there?

Half wishing that I could join them, I turned my attention instead to the Food Soul Panettone had brought with her, unconsciously holding out my hand for him to shake, unwillingly meeting his sharp, ruby red eyes.

“Hello, I’m Nonna, I ah… I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself back in the carriage.” I said apologetically, but I was quickly relieved as he gave a hearty laugh and an even heartier handshake.

“No need to apologise, I was well and truly dead to the world,” he said good naturedly, those deep eyes never leaving mine, and though they sent tremors throughout me, somehow I couldn’t bring myself to look away, “forgive me for seeking you out like this, Attendant, I’m sure that you are keen to dance and sample the food, are you not?”

Despite the general discomfort of the situation, I had to hold back a scoff, after all I hadn’t made a single move towards the dance floor since I’d arrived here.

“Just the food really, I’m an awful dancer, especially in these shoes,” I admitted, pausing to finish off my éclair, “this stuff is good, but honestly I’m wasting my time by being here. These people don’t care about my restaurant, they don’t want me here and I don’t really want to be here either, I wasn’t expecting it to be a family gathering. I’d go home but I promised my Food S… My _friends_ that I’d see it through.”

“How charming,” Vita commented, and to my great surprise, he then turned to offer me his arm, “as poor as your opinion of this ball is, I wouldn’t mind a dance at all, Attendant, if I may?”

I stared at him, my mouth still full of éclair, really; dancing was the very last thing on my mind, and though Mister Vita wasn’t as unnerving awake as he was when asleep, I still wasn’t terribly keen on the idea of dancing with him. But then again, I had come here to establish some connections, and apart from the staff, Vita was the first person here that hadn’t sneered at the sight of me.

“Yeah, alright.” I said, turning to dab my mouth with a napkin. “Mph. But go slowly, will you please? No dipping or anything stupid like that, these shoes…”

“I’m not a terribly accomplished dancer myself,” Vita interrupted with a laugh, taking my arm and leading me onto the floor, “so I won’t be trying anything rash, I promise you.”

We swept out in amongst our fellow dancers, gliding between them seamlessly; at some point I knew that I had intended on asking Mister Vita what his Food Soul name was, but I soon found myself very much distracted by the sight of a familiar face. With a jolt, I realised that I was looking at the Food Soul I’d seen at the dinner table, he stood a few feet away from us, dancing carefully yet clumsily with his Master, golden eyes darting about nervously behind his glasses.

Suddenly, I realised why he looked so familiar to me.

“That Food Soul is a spitting image of one I know back in Gloriville,” I muttered to Vita, stiffening as he moved to spin me around, “don’t, please, no spinning. I _will_ fall over, and that’s a promise.”

Vita glanced over at his fellow Food Soul, his eyes gleaming rather horribly as we passed directly beneath one of the many chandeliers, the lights reflected in those ruby iris’ like fire, a sight that prompted me to lean back from him a little; he laughed.

“I thought you didn’t want me to dip you,” he teased, resuming the mercifully slow tempo we’d been dancing at before, “but it is no surprised to me that you’ve seen his particular strand of Food Soul before, you’re a Cooking Attendant and he’s a Pudding, there are hundreds of his kind.”

“Come again?” I blustered, craning my neck so that I could take another look into the Soul’s face. _”A_ Pudding? I thought the Pudding I knew was one of a kind!”

“Dear me, no,” Vita laughed, “Pudding Food Souls are as common as they come, that one looks to me as if he’s some kind of suet variation, very common for this area. But I can understand your confusion, Attendant, Gloriville is a terribly isolated place and I’m not expecting you to know the ins and outs of Tierra.”

“Thanks.” I mumbled, and there was genuine gratitude in my voice, I’d had enough of people assuming that I knew as much as them, how could I? I knew next to nothing.

“No need to thank me, I must say that this is very pleasant,” Vita said kindly, continuing to lead me about the floor, “I’m just sorry that I missed the chance to speak with you in the carriage. After all, it isn’t often that we get someone like you here in Tierra. Why, I can’t imagine how challenging it must be for you, what with the Fallen ripping into you all! Tell me, how exactly have your kind gone about preserving themselves?”

What little gaiety I’d managed to strum up suddenly died alarmingly and abruptly, leaving me cold and clammy, and I stopped so sharply that Vita stumbled, but I hardly noticed. What had he said? What the _Hell_ had he just said?  
I gawped at him, my mouth growing horribly dry, struggling to find some loophole, an excuse, a way out of answering him honestly. Oh no, no, no, no! I could just barely tolerate this from Pudding, but from a complete stranger…

“Ahahah, careful there,” Vita was chortling, angling his eyes down at her hands, still interlocked from our waltz, “I know that your age group have a hard time managing their strength, but I only have two hands and I am rather attached to them both.”

I ripped myself away from him, my jaw set and my stomach bubbling sickeningly with fear. All of a sudden, the whole room seemed to close in around me, the great walls towering and the chandeliers blazed so brightly that they rendered me almost blind. I stumbled back further still until I felt myself collide with the table, oh God, the last thing I wanted was for the guests to realise too. Did everyone know? Had I been set up? Was I now stuck in a room full of people who could see right thr…

“A shot, Madam Attendant?”

Panna Cotta had appeared out of nowhere at my side, a large tray held carefully on her splayed fingers. Already sick with panic, one glance towards the drinks she offered was enough to push me over the edge, they were lined up immaculately on the tray, a tiny flame dancing merrily atop each and every one of them.

“I-I need to… I need to get outside,” I choked, turning about so sharply that I almost rolled my ankle, “w-where’s the…”

But before I’d even caught sight of the door, I felt a hand at my back, a sturdy hand that soon made very short work of leading me through the dance floor, steering me expertly through the dancers, through the explosion of light and noise until finally, mercifully, the night’s cold winter air drenched my face, filling my scorching lungs with the oxygen they so desperately needed.

I barely made it a few steps out of the door before my ankles gave out, I fell to my knees against a large, clay plant pot, which was just as well as a series of dry retches soon seized me. Somewhere above me, I could hear someone speaking, a soothing tone accompanied by that hand at my back once again.

“There now, Attendant Noyabrina,” it was Panettone, “I do apologise, Panna Cotta is still in training, I should have reminded her that not all of our guests would take kindly to having a fire shot suddenly stuck under their nose.”

I wanted to reply, I wished I could reply, but my throat had gone numb and my head swam lazily with panic. Trembling, I glanced back towards the estate’s double doors, just waiting for the thin silhouette of Vita to cut through the hallway’s golden light. I didn’t think I could take much more, God help me and God help _him_ if he decided to come looking for me.

“I’ll get you some water to drink,” Panettone was soothing, her golden eyes glinting by that same light, “should I apologise to Mister Vita on your behalf? He was ever so keen to ask you to dance.”

I coughed unpleasantly into the plant pot, wishing that my stomach would settle. Still unable to speak, I waved a shaky hand through the air, hoping that that would be enough of a ‘no’ for Panettone. Thankfully, she seemed to get the message, as with one last rub to my back I heard her retreat back into the estate, her kitten heels clicking against the concrete.

I slumped down against the plant pot, and was reminded rather grimly of that morning back at the restaurant, back _home,_ back with Pudding and Tempura and Peking and… I slid further down the plant pot, my heart throbbing as I thought of B-52 and the look of concern he’d given me at the coach station. Had he known that this would happen? Did he know more than he was letting on? The very thought made my stomach churn horribly, no, no, he couldn’t know, how could he? He’d never do anything to harm me, not _now_ at least, not after…

Someone was coming up behind me again, and with a sigh of relief I reached out a hand for the water, but it never came. 

“Goodness me, what a state you’re in. If I’d known you were going to make a scene, I wouldn’t have bothered to invite you.”

My stomach churned again, the sensation made all the worse by the raw, boiling hatred that slowly but surely filled me. Teeth clenched with fury, I turned where I sat, glaring up into Spaghetti’s mocking face, his violet eyes reduced to malicious slits. 

“What do _you_ want?” I demanded, struggling to my feet, using the pot for support. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough? That’s what you invited me here for, wasn’t it? So your family could have a good laugh at me.”

Spaghetti didn’t reply, not at first; instead, he took a step closer to me, his head tilted with unmistakeable curiosity.

“I didn’t realise that fire was such a touchy subject for you,” he said softly, a tongue darting out to wet his thin lips, “you jumped a mile when Panna Cotta offered you those drinks, it was most amusing to see. But I wonder, if it’s that much of a problem, why do you still entertain Peking Duck? With this little fear of yours, I would’ve assumed that he would be the very last Food Soul you would wish to associate yourself with.”

“What the hell are you prattling on about?” I hissed, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand, forcing my stomach to stay calm, forcing _myself_ to stay calm. “Quit trying to put fucking ideas into my head, I’m not in the mood.”

Spaghetti held up his hands, shaking his head with a barely repressed smirk, his eyes fluttering closed.

“You don’t know? Hah, how sad, how _unfortunate._ I’m only trying to help you, Attendant Noyabrina, there’s no need to speak in such a nasty tone, but I must say, for someone who is so clearly afraid of fire, you certainly spend a lot of time in its presence.”

He cracked open an eye, his lips still twisted into that ugly smirk as he observed my fury, though his words had punctured a hole in my rage, a hole through which doubts and fears were slowly but surely beginning to flow.

“What… Do you mean?” I asked, my eyes narrowed, I wasn’t willing to trust a single word he said, but I didn’t mess around when it came to fire, I _would not_ mess around with it again.

Spaghetti sighed deeply, and I could tell that he was trying to sound regretful, but his smugness and self-satisfaction killed any chance of that happening.

“My family and I never used to host parties at this estate,” he said, “we used to all congregate at a much larger venue, a palace for lack of a better word… However, that venue and in fact the whole Kingdom surrounding it is, regrettably, no longer fit for anything, let alone a party of this scale. Goodness it was terrible, a disgusting affair, a whole Kingdom burnt to the ground, a Kingdom that remains uninhabitable to this very day… But I only know half of the details, I’m afraid, for the whole story, I strongly suggest that you talk to your, ah… _Mentor,_ I’m sure he would be just delighted to tell you the story.”

I stood rooted to the spot, my heart’s tempo slowly but surely growing faster and faster, until I was sure it would come flying out of my mouth. This was ludicrous! He couldn’t be suggesting that, he couldn’t be talking about Peking like that, Peking had – as far as I knew – never raised a hand to hurt anyone in his life, he had been a lifeline for my restaurant ever since he had arrived, he had _saved me_ for God’s sake! Mine and my restaurant’s fate had been in his hands ever since Spaghetti’s interference, all of it in his hands… His very warm hands.

As Spaghetti continued to leer, I found myself thinking back to my very first conversations with Peking, they had been nothing special, but the one thing that had stuck in my mind had been the unnatural _heat_ that radiated from his palms each time he touched me. 

“He… He doesn’t… I mean ah,” I fumbled, disturbed to hear just how strained my voice had become, “h-he can’t… He can’t summon… He can’t summon fire, can he?”

Spaghetti was almost beside himself with glee, and with another dramatic sigh, he shook his head, velvet-clad shoulders shrugging up to his ears.

“Who knows. Well, _I_ may know, but alas, I doubt you would believe me even if I told you, would you? Your bias against me is going to be the death of you, Noyabrina, you and your business too.” 

“Yeah. Yeah you’re right I don’t believe a word you say. Fucking… Ugh! Good God, what do I care?” I suddenly spat; my temper rising alarmingly, this was _exactly_ what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To lace fear into my mind, to make me doubt the very few people who were close to me. “I’m done with this fucking ball, I want to go home, you don’t want me here and _I_ certainly don’t want to be here. It was a waste of my god damn time to even think about coming out here.”

Spaghetti wasn’t smiling anymore, in fact his mood appeared to have changed just as abruptly as mine. He regarded me coldly, watching as I began to stumble down the front steps, barely holding back another retch. He looked utterly repulsed, but he stood his ground, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what you did to B-52 Cocktail.” He said shortly.

“Dear God. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hissed back at him, now half-wishing that my stomach would lurch again, it would be _so_ satisfying if I managed to throw up all over his prissy little suit. “If you mean how I fixed him, I…”

“How did you get him to _respond_ to you? Stupid woman,” Spaghetti interrupted, waving a hand through the air, his rings glittering in the light cast by the windows behind him, “both Fettuccine _and_ Limoncello have told me about the things they have seen him doing while around you, and to say that they’re taken aback would be an _understatement._ He is not capable of feeling, he is not capable of _love._ How did you do it? Did you give him a personality chip of some kind?”

I reeled back, so stunned by this assumption that for a few moments I had quite a bit of trouble forming a response, and when I did, each and every word quaked with an almost unrestrained rage.

“’Personality chip’? Are you _serious?_ He isn’t some… Fucking puzzle to unlock, _urod,_ all he wanted from me and everyone else in my restaurant was some fucking _decency,_ and he’s flourished just from that. I haven’t had to change him or alter him or _upgrade_ him, he’s perfectly capable of doing that himself! He has a whole personality in him, a sense of humour, he’s capable of emotion, and he’s certainly capable of _love,_ for Christ’s sake, all he needed was encouragement, all he wanted was a chance to grow.”

Spaghetti looked nothing short of aghast, and as I continued to glare, he spun around on his heel, shaking his head, his fur-lined cape billowing out behind him for a second.

“No, _no._ You are _lying_ to me, woman.” He growled, glancing back at me over his shoulder, violet eyes alight with fury. “I had B-52 Cocktail here, in my service for just under a decade, and not _once_ in all of those years did I see any sign that he was anything but a machine, a _tool_ to be used, _nothing_ throughout my time spent with him showed me that there was anything else in him except the ability to _follow orders.”_

“Did you even _try?”_ I yelled, and all around me I felt the air suddenly shift and the space around us vibrate softly with some raw power, whispering almost, a dozen voices echoing my words. I paused, a little shaken, wondering if perhaps I had gone too far, but that anger bubbled up within me again, irresistibly so. “You said it yourself, idiot. He was in your _service._ You used him and you treated him like a machine, and I’m willing to bet any amount of money that you never tried to teach him anything else other than what _you_ wanted him to do! Go on! Tell me I’m wrong! You never tried, did you? I can see it in your face!”

Spaghetti’s fists were clenched again, and for a split second the image of a child flashed through my mind, a child playing dress up, a child throwing a tantrum for not getting his way. Of course, that was all he was, no amount of money could disguise that, I could see it now, as clear as day, and it was almost laughable.

Then he sighed, a genuine noise this time, a noise that swept through him; his head bowed and his shoulders drooped, even his hair seemed to wilt. He looked defeated, downtrodden, as if someone had taken a pin to him and he was now deflating before my very eyes. It was an oddly frightening thing to witness, to see this bold and cruel aristocrat placated in such a way.  
He moved towards the steps, and with a groan he lowered himself down to sit on the topmost stair a little way away from me, there he sat quite still, his fur-trimmed cap splayed out behind him, so perfectly that it was if some invisible presence had arranged it for him, smoothing out the wrinkles in the heavy fabric, lovingly, carefully.

“It wasn’t… In my interest to try.” He said, and even his voice sounded hushed, toned down. “But in the end, he tried for me, didn’t he? He ran and decided not to come back, I cannot imagine what sort of life he hopes to make for himself in a dump like Gloriville, but… You aren’t forcing him to stay there, are you?”

I paused, too taken aback to think of a response. But he apparently didn’t need one, as with another groan, he got to his feet, his lip curled with something bordering on disgust, but there was disappointment there too, in the crease of his brow and the way his eyes stared vacantly into space. I recognised that look, Fettuccine had been wearing it earlier…

“You’re right. It was a waste of your time to invite you here. It was a waste of _my_ time, a pointless endeavour.” He said, finally meeting my gaze, and with a swish of his cape, he held out his arm to me. “Come, I’ll tell them to collect your bag for you, and I’ll have Fettuccine drive you back to Gloriville coach station.”

I didn’t move, this sudden change of mood was just that. Too sudden.

“I’m staying here. Get my stuff for me, I’m not taking your arm.”

Spaghetti laughed derisively, a short and hollow sound, but he didn’t push me further, instead he made his way back up to the hall and disappeared down to the cloakroom. Within minutes he was back, Fettuccine hot on his heels, the latter carried my bag with him, which I immediately relieved him of. 

“Take one of the cars this time, Fettuccine,” Spaghetti was saying, bringing a hand down onto the larger Food Soul’s shoulder with a hearty slap, “get her home quickly, try not to be back too late, we will need you here.”

With that, he was gone, and the last I saw of him was the hem of his cape disappearing back into the dining room. Fettuccine’s expression was unreadable, but I could see the way his hands shook as he ushered me into the back seat of a black car, upon which I immediately snuggled down, my arms folded tightly across my chest, trying to soothe both my nerves and my lurching stomach. I closed my eyes with a deep sigh, letting the vibration of the car’s engine soothe me, and calm my still racing heart.

“Fuck me…” I breathed, my voice almost lost in the rumble of the engine. “What got under his skin?”

“Master Spaghetti is an emotional Soul,” Fettuccine’s sombre voice suddenly came from the driver’s seat, the sound bringing me out of my daze, “far more emotional than you would think, Attendant. Most people know him as ruthless, bold, bloodthirsty even, but I have known him long enough to say to you with confidence; that he has his demons too, just as you do.”

“I don’t doubt that, doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dick though,” I replied, my eyes drooping once again, though I was quickly jerked awake again as the car swerved on the road, “doesn’t give anyone an excuse. Hey, are you alright, by the way? I know I asked before, but you’ve been on edge all evening, all of you have, now that I come to think of it.”

Fettuccine didn’t reply, but I was just fine with that, the less talking I had to do tonight, the better. I sat back in my seat, once again trying to nod off to sleep, maybe I could make it the whole journey without waking up, perhaps if I closed my eyes for long enough, the next time I opened them I would be back at home; Pudding would fuss, Tempura would ask about the food, B-52 would nervously offer me his hand. Peking would…

_Peking…_

I awoke with a start, something had flashed brilliantly outside my window. For a moment I thought it was just one of the many streetlamps passing by, but it wasn’t long before a behemoth of noise hit my ears, so ferocious that I heard the car’s framework rattle. Scared out of my wits, I turned around in my seat, gazing out of the back window towards the estate, and what I saw almost made me throw up again.

The whole building was ablaze.

“F-Fettuccine!” I cried, turning around to shake the back of Fettuccine’s seat. “Fettuccine! Stop the car! The estate is on fire! It’s….”

But before I could finish my sentence, another torrent of noise rained down upon us, accompanied by yet another flash of light. I turned back around in my seat wildly, hands clapped over my mouth, my breathing coming in panicked, desperate bursts. Before my very eyes, I saw the whole roof of the estate cave in, fire and smoke pouring from every window, bricks crumbled, glass shattered, _another_ crack of noise filled the air, another blaze of light, another explosion ripped through the building, ruining the grand structure, the hall, the dining room, the guests, reducing the whole family estate to to nothing but _rubble._

_**“Fettuccine! Turn around!”** _

“Miss Attendant, please _stay calm.”_ Came the Food Soul’s voice, a sound of forced calm, but nothing could hide the way his hands shook as they gripped steering wheel. “Please stay in y…”

But I wasn’t listening, and with a frustrated cry, I slammed my foot into the car’s door, ripping the thing clean off its hinges. Fettuccine slammed on the breaks with a yelp of his own, calling out to me to come back, to stay where I was, but I had already scrambled out onto the road, my legs shaking, my hands still clapped over my mouth.  
Before me, I watched helplessly as the estate continued to burn, black smoke billowing out from the wreckage, filling the clear night air with a suffocating smog, hiding the stars, dulling the moon.

Fettuccine burst out of the car, his face white, his teeth chattering as he gestured helplessly to the car door lying abandoned on the road.

“T-The door... How… How did you…”

“O-Oh God… Fucking… O-Oh my fucking God… Oh God…” I whimpered, sinking to my knees, allowing them to slam into the asphalt beneath me. That was all I could say, that was all I could think of saying, and I repeated those words again and again, my voice shaking, choked with the promise of vomiting again. All I could do was sit and watch the destruction unfurl before me, all I could do was watch the building, outside which I had been sitting mere _minutes_ ago crumble down into the ground, the fire and the smoke quickly swallowing it whole.

“Miss At… M-Miss Attendant, _please,”_ Fettuccine was muttering feverishly, his hands at my shoulders, shaking me, urging me to stand up, “I have to get you back to Gloriville, I can’t stay away for long, I…”

I looked up at him, my face stricken with fear, my mascara running, rouged cheeks wet with tears, painted lips quivering. I raised a shaking hand, pointing a finger directly up into his face.

“Y-You… You knew… You all knew, didn’t you?” I choked, each word punctuated by a retch. “You knew… _All_ of you…! You all knew! You we… I-If I hadn’t left I… You would’ve…”

Somewhere above us, another noise suddenly made itself known to me, a screeching, a wailing, a grating of metal. I looked around wildly, hardly daring to believe it, but it was Fettuccine’s terrified yelp that made it all real, that made _him_ real.

B-52 Cocktail was descending out of the sky, his patchwork wings billowing out behind him, his normally placid face incandescent with rage. As he landed, he surged towards me, ignoring Fettuccine outright, and he made quick work of bundling me up into his arms, his laboured breathing suddenly pressed right up against my ear.

“I thought I was being a paranoid fool by following you out here.” He murmured, the night air once again filled with that screeching metal as he opened up his wings again, poised for flight. “But I think that paranoia has paid off.”

I could do nothing but sob gently in response, I reached out to him desperately, my hands clambering at his chest, my tear-stained face buried into his neck. I couldn’t speak, I didn’t know how, I _still_ didn’t know how, could anyone hold a civil conversation after this? 

Somewhere above me, I heard B-52 call out, his voice sharp and clear, cutting through the pandemonium coming from the estate. 

“Fettuccine. Thank you for driving her away from that.”

Fettuccine called back, bitterly, coldly.

“Don’t thank me, BiFi. Get away now, before Spaghetti realises you’re here.”

After that, everything around me was reduced to the whistling wind, and the oddly comforting, melodic squealing of those great wings flying me home.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to itS near-dEstruction, and unfortunAtely for her, the country she was told to flee to is about as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a nice little 13-page-long break after the near 50-page monstrosity I subjected you guys to last time! So sit back, relax and enjoy this relatively calm chapter. Nothing scary happens this time, nope. No siree.

Everything around me was _noisy_ when B-52 and I returned; doors banged; chairs scraped across the floor; conversation buzzed; worried murmurs flitted through the air and the muffled sound of the radio hummed lightly in the background of it all. It was as if Tierra itself was awake and eager to see what state its latest victim was in, at least that was what it sounded like to my exhausted brain.

The radio was playing Mister Blue Sky again.

“What on Earth is…”

“Oh, Gods! The Master! The Hell have you done to her!?”

“Tempura, please be quiet, this isn’t B-52’s doing, use your common sense. Get her inside and… Oh _hush,_ Tempura! B-52, what happened to her?”

A chair had suddenly appeared beneath me, and everything around me suddenly sprang into sharp and unforgiving focus. I blinked rapidly, a swell of fear rising up in my chest as I realised that B-52 had flown me all the way back to Gloriville without me even noticing. God, what the hell was wrong with me? How long would it last?  
Before me, Pudding and Tempura stood, the latter hovered awkwardly with his arms pinned to his side, as if afraid of what to do with himself, but Pudding looked nothing short of horrified, his tiny hands twisting fervently in front of him.

“He _didn’t,”_ he breathed, in response to something someone had said that I obviously hadn’t heard, “he blew up the estate? The Nevras Royal estate? It’s gone?”

“All of it.” Came B-52’s voice from somewhere way above my head, a stoic and damning reply that caused Pudding to reach – hands shaking – for a chair of his own.

“I don’t believe it. All of that history gone just like that…”

“Damn the estate, I kinda think you’re forgetting something here, Pudding. Like the Master?” Tempura asked gruffly, kneeling down so that he could grasp both my hands in one of his. “Hey, hey, Attendant… You okay?”

I met his amber eyes, my whole frame still quivering; though whether it was from exhaustion or adrenaline, I couldn’t tell. Everything around me felt distant, muffled, as if someone had thrown a cloth over my head, but at Tempura’s words I tried my utmost to force my face into a smile, a strained and tense look that I had no doubt wouldn’t even fool the dimmest of creatures. But I felt the need to fool Tempura, I didn’t want to worry him or Pudding, the least I could do was _try._

“Yes. Y-Yeah, yeah.” I fumbled, making a valiant attempt to appear as if I had it all together, and valiant it was, though it still wasn’t enough.

“N… No.” I muttered, and before I could stop them, the tears began to fall, hot against my cheeks. “No I’m not.”

Pudding was instantly invigorated, he stood up from his chair, face set. 

“We need tea,” he said hoarsely, “or perhaps Peking Duck would do us the honours of making a pot. I’ll go and ask him.”

“Peking… Peking is here?” I muttered, looking after Pudding’s rapidly retreating figure somewhat desperately, and I made an attempt to rise up from my seat, only to find myself pushed back down by Tempura’s gentle yet sturdy hands. 

“Stay there, Master, don’t try to jump around,” he said gruffly, patting my shoulder awkwardly, “yeah, Duck’s here, he showed up right after you left, seemed pretty rattled that you’d gone off to a ball without telling him, don’t know why though. Not your priority to tell him of your every move, is it?”

No, no it wasn’t, but I realised with a thrill of horror, that maybe Peking had every reason to be _’rattled’,_ he wasn’t stupid, he was definitely smart enough to come to the conclusion that Spaghetti would seek me out. Oh God, did that mean…

“You’re shivering real bad, Attendant, you want me to grab your duvet and a hot water bottle for you?” Tempura asked, patting the back of my hand with his colossal palm, “I think we’ve got one of those. You gotta take it easy, okay? Real easy.”

I glanced down at him wearily, was I shaking? I hadn’t felt myself shaking; all I felt was a dull but deep _ache_ throughout my body, penetrating every bone, festering in every limb. I was lucky I hadn’t had a complete meltdown at the sight of the estate burning, but somehow I knew that it was coming, it was inevitable. But it had been merciful enough to spare me for now.

“Yeah, actually,” I murmured without thinking, “that would be nice. Thanks, Tempura.”

With that, B-52 and I were left alone.

I looked across to him; realising as I did so that he had sunk down to kneel beside me, but even then he was still at my eye-level. He was watching me closely, his hands twitching ever so slightly, as if unsure of what to do with them. Somehow, I still felt aware enough to cast him a small smile; a weak and trembling gesture that I hoped would be enough to get my gratitude across.

“Hey,” I muttered, reaching out a shaky hand towards him, “thank you for coming to get me.”

He took that hand gladly, quickly encasing it in both of his own, metal and flesh brushing together comfortingly and he spoke to me in the softest tone I’d heard from him yet. “It was the only thing I could think to do. I do not trust Spaghetti, no matter what Pudding seems to think.”

“Pudding isn’t to blame, he couldn’t have known,” I said softly, voice and eyes both drooping with tiredness, “you saw how shocked he was. Anyway, enough about me, are _you_ okay? It couldn’t have been easy going back to Nevras."

“That isn’t important.”

“Yes it is, B, of course it is.” I said hoarsely, turning in my seat so that I faced him head on, but to my great surprise I soon felt those metal fingers press against my lips before I’d even thought of saying anything else.

“You need to sleep, Nonna,” he was saying, his working eye glowing dully – exhausted from the journey back to Gloriville no doubt, “you look so tired, you’re going to fall off of your chair.”

“I can’t do it, B, how am I supposed to sleep?” I asked, panic suddenly creeping into my voice. “I don’t want to go to sleep, I don’t want to close my eyes, every time I do I see that… That building, and I think of those people I saw. They’re all dead, they’re all gone; they were all b… They were all burned alive…”

“Everything will be alright, Nonna.” B-52 said, reaching towards me, those cold metal fingers ever so gently curling around my arms, awkwardly tugging me towards him. I accepted it gladly, pushing my chair away so that I could fall against him, arms wound about his neck once again. The closeness and the _warmth_ of that simple embrace was enough to bring me to tears again; my eyes burned savagely, and my lips trembled, though choked words still tumbled from my mouth.

“I… I know that they all looked down on me,” I mumbled, my fingers scrambling to grip into B-52’s shirt, anchoring myself to him, “I know I was brought there for their entertainment, but I d-didn’t want them to die, not like that. No one should die like that.”

“Everything will be alright.” He repeated, almost sternly, and I then felt myself being held away from him, and that cold metal of his hand brushing against my cheek, tentatively, perhaps he was scared of hurting me. I leant into his touch without quite knowing what I was doing.

“I don’t know what to do, B. My head feels like it’s full of cobwebs.” I whispered. “I doubt I could even tell right from wrong at this point. Nothing is as it seems and I hate it, I _hate_ this.”

“I know.”

“You… A-And you?” I asked suddenly, turning in my seat to face him, my bottom lip trembling, threatening yet more tears, a damning realisation dawning on my rigid face. “That… The estate; all of those people… That was why he wanted you back, wasn’t it? He’s used to you to kill before, hasn’t he? Was that why you ran?”

“Nonna.” B-52’s face was suddenly stricken and taught, his jaw set and his shoulders raised. “I could not have predicted this. I didn’t think he would…”

“No, no, B I didn’t mean…”

“He loved the estate, it was his Master Attendant's family home, I never would have expected him to act so illogically. It makes no sense.”

I leant into him a little more, shaking hands reaching up to hold his face, my thumbs stroking at the melded metal, the weathered synthetic skin. This time last week I would’ve shuddered at the thought of getting this close to him, but now when I was shaken and vulnerable, all I could think to do was turn to him, show him how much he mattered to me. He had comforted me, reassured me, maybe even loved me, it would be selfish not to do the same for him.

“I wasn’t suggesting you knew anything, B,” I soothed, honeying my hoarse and strained voice to the best of my ability, “I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, not now. But… This would add up, this was why he tried so hard to take you away from me. Wasn’t it?”

B-52 didn’t reply immediately, he remained tight-lipped and stiff, though his gaze never left my face, and it wasn’t long before his hand snaked up again, fiddling with the collar of my shirt, almost as if to comfort himself.

“Like I said to you before,” he mumbled, voice low and trembling, “Mast – hm. Spaghetti and I have never seen eye to eye.”

He fell silent, and I tried furiously to stem the flow of a new wave of tears, to think above the horrible ache in my throat that came from forcing back more. There was so much to take in, so much to work out, so many questions to ponder over. B-52 was right, I knew I needed sleep, but every time I closed my eyes I could still see the explosion, bright against my dark eyelids. 

“There’s… Something else too,” I murmured, more to myself than to B-52, “something Spaghetti told me. It’s about Peking.”

At that moment, as if directly on cue, the kitchen door swung open and Pudding emerged, stony faced, a large tray balanced expertly atop his arms, clear evidence of his many, many years in service. He paused to survey B-52 and I’s rather compromising position on the floor, before shrugging a shoulder and continuing his journey over to us, apparently he had decided that it was none of his business to pry.

“I cannot think what Peking Duck is doing in there,” he said to us as he set down the tray, organising tiny cups onto tiny saucers, delicately lifting the lid off of the sugar bowl, “he’s used all the good china, I asked him to put it away hours ago; his little friend didn’t stay for terribly long, what on Tierra is he doing?”

I stood up suddenly, Pudding’s words akin to a starting gun going off, shattering the peace, bringing me back to reality and back to face the horrible realisation that I _needed_ to do something about all of this now.

“I need to talk to him.” I said to Pudding, who was looking at me inquisitively, the lines around his eyes were more defined than usual, enhanced with worry. But he didn’t stop me, and in fact he held out his arm to gesture towards the gloomy kitchen.

“By all means. Maybe you can get him to tidy up after himself for once.”

B-52 had stood up with me, and unlike Pudding he looked _most_ unhappy with my decision, but _like_ Pudding he made no attempt to stop me, and instead cocked his head towards the kitchen doors, steam rising up slowly from somewhere beneath his shirt as he sighed heavily.

Somewhere above my head, I heard hefty footsteps, Tempura coming back with my blanket perhaps, or maybe it was a noise somewhere within my chest, a deep and heavy sound. Thud. Thud. _Thud._

-

Peking had pulled a table and a set of chairs into the kitchen, and had helped himself to one of the restaurant’s grander tea sets, complete with two sets of decorated teaspoons, two sculpted milk jugs, two patterned teacups.

What had he been doing?

“Peking?” I called hesitantly, and he immediately turned his head, those tapered fingers cradling a smoking pipe between them, something that would ensure that distance was kept between us at all times. He regarded me with a drowsy kind of contentment, sweet smoke slowly leaking its way out of his mouth and nostrils as he spoke.

“Welcome back, Miss Attendant, I had no idea that you would be out tonight, did you have fun? Come, sit and have some tea, there is enough left here for you, it will help to calm your nerves.”

I didn’t move, I didn’t want my nerves to be calmed, my nerves were on my side! My nerves were always right; after all, they were the ones screaming at me to _run._  
Peking was tapping at something on the table, a small black square of roughened leather, its worn buckle glinting in the dingy lights of the restaurant. I swallowed as best I could, for my throat was suddenly bone dry. What the hell was he doing with my wallet?

“That man came back today.” Peking said softly, confirming my worst fears; fears that I didn’t even realise I’d had until I’d stepped into the kitchen. He undid the wallet’s fastening with a deft flick of his finger. “You know, the one you made such a scene about? We had a very pleasant chat, the kind that swallows up all the hours of the day. I don’t know why you were so keen to avoid him when he first came here, he was an absolute pleasure to talk to, he's a most interesting fellow! Unless of course you have something to hide from him.”

I took a tentative step forwards, the restaurant’s old floorboards squealing beneath my feet like a pig faced with slaughter. This was dangerous, so dangerous, everything was getting far too risky. How many was it now? Pudding? Limoncello? Even that old crone at the market had sometimes hinted at…

Calm. Be calm. _Be calm…_

“I have nothing to hide, Peking,” I said, moving closer still, my hand outstretched, “please give me back my wallet, I don’t know why you thought it was okay to take it out of my wardrobe. There are some very special things of mine in there, I…”

“Indeed!” Peking exclaimed, and with a swish of his hand, the little photograph I had kept safe for so long was suddenly held between his fingers. “Like this charming gentleman’s picture?”

My breathing quickened, my palms beginning to sweat, I stared helplessly into Peking’s pallid face, into those golden eyes that had fixed themselves onto the photo in his hand. He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging, but his face wore a terrifying smile, like someone had crudely drawn a picture of what they _thought_ a smile should look like onto his mouth. That someone had clearly never seen a genuine smile before.

“You’re an awful liar, Noyabrina,” the Food Soul sighed, twirling the picture between his fingers, “at least, you are when you’re under pressure. After all, you’ve been lying this whole time, haven’t you? But… Well – dear, dear – therein lies the question, if it isn’t you, then who is it?”

I took a shaky breath; I had no fucking idea what he was talking about, or why he had suddenly turned so hostile, but all of that wasn’t my priority. My number one priority was getting that picture out of those hands, out of those hands that – according to Spaghetti – had brought a whole Kingdom to ruin. It was all becoming clearer to me now, second by second; had he really come to me with my best interests at heart? I wasn’t so sure now, though I couldn’t say if I had ever really been sure about any of Peking’s motives. 

“I don’t… Know what you’re talking about, but,” I began, sucking in a shaking breath as Peking once again turned over the photograph between his fingers, “listen, Peking, I don’t think you should come here anymore. I appreciate everything you have done for me, honestly I do, and if you want me to repay you then I absolutely will, I'll give you whatever you want. But I think I’ll be able to manage things just fine with…”

“Really, if I had known that Spaghetti had invited you to a function such as that, I would’ve accompanied you,” Peking interrupted, as if the tension in the room had never risen, “after the mess you got yourself in... Tsk tsk. So you don’t think I should come here anymore, hm? What has prompted this rather drastic change of heart?”

“Just… I-I mean you’re not contracted to me and…”

… and you can summon _fire._

“Did Spaghetti speak to you about me?” Peking asked, and a cold, cruel mirth could now be heard in his voice. “Well, of course he did, didn’t he? He threatened to should he ever have the chance to speak with you again.”

He fixed me with a piercing stare, the stare of a teacher or parent faced with a child who had disappointed them, a child who had disobeyed their rules. My own father had been a master at that look, but on Peking’s face it was somehow made far, far worse.

“I assumed that you were sensible enough to stay away from him, Nonna. Hah, foolish of me, and now he has planted all sorts of nasty ideas into your head. You poor dear, you must be so confused.”

“P… Peking, listen,” I ventured, taking a step closer to him, wondering if he would stop being so cryptic if _I_ talked candidly first, “please, I don’t… I don’t mess around with things like f… Things like fire, I really don’t, so please tell me the truth?”

“Oh! But here we come to the question, Nonna!” He laughed suddenly, setting a hand heavily down onto the table with a thud. “Is it really worth me telling you the truth? Is it worth me confiding anything in you after you have so craftily snuck about behind my back to…”

“Oy!” I snapped, cutting him off, which - judging by the scandalised look on his face - had never happened to him before, but I didn’t care, I had finally regained some of my strength, and I was about to use all of it to stand my ground. “What in God’s name do you even mean by that? I wasn’t _sneaking_ anywhere! I got invited to a ball and it just so happened that I never got the chance to tell you, which is unsurprising since you come and go as you please. We aren’t even contracted, Peking, so why are you suddenly _this_ keen to know my moveme…”

I choked, the anger within me dying an abrupt death as Peking snapped the fingers of his free hand, and a tiny flame began its terrifying dance atop the tip of his first finger.

“Now, now, Nonna, there’s no need to use that nasty tone with me,” he said softly, a hiss almost, a sound that chilled me to the very bone, “oh come, come, why so afraid? Fire is a Cooking Attendant’s greatest asset, fire is _purifying._ Is it not?”

I drew in a shaking breath, and before I had even realised that I was moving, I felt my palms meet the kitchen wall, God how embarrassing, I had been backed up into the corner like a coward, a wild animal.

“Put that flame out,” I breathed, brandishing a shaking hand, “you put it out right…”

“What exactly did Spaghetti tell you?” Peking asked, a cool and almost bored edge to his voice as he watched the flame sputter upon his fingertip. It was scary to see just how calm he was when faced with an element capable of such destruction. “Did he tell you about my Magistrate? About the cult? Or did he leave those parts out? So terribly rude of him, I would have a word with him, but it really does seem as if he has dug himself into a deep enough hole on his own. No need for me to intervene.”

“Did you… Did you threaten him with this?” I demanded. “Did you? Is that how you got him to back off? You blackmailed him? That makes you no better than him!”

Peking chuckled, it was a true and oddly warm sound, and for a split second, I saw the face of the man who had come to me in my hour of need, who had wiped away my problems with a flick of his wrist. My _mentor_ was there for a fraction of a second before he vanished, replaced instead by a cheap copy; a clone.

The clone’s teeth were sharp.

“Nonna, Nonna, Nonna… Has warfare taught you nothing?” The clone laughed, raising the flame still burning on his finger slowly towards the picture still trapped in his grasp. “Sometimes to do some good, you have to think like the enemy…”

“Fu… Fuck you! _Fuck you!_ Don’t you **_dare!”_**

I lunged towards him, and in the same instant the flame atop his fingertip grew into a fireball, angry and flickering, eager to sink its teeth into flesh, to char it and melt it away. Peking drew his hand back, but I collided with him before he had the chance to strike. Our combined weight sent us and the chair he’d been sitting on toppling to the side, and I heard a sickening thud as he smashed into the wooden countertop to his right, sparks from the fire in his hand flying in all directions.

Panicking at the sight, I blindly threw myself at him, clumsy hands outstretched and groping, desperate to get the picture off of him before he could call forth any more fire. Peking scrambled about to face me, and in a terrifying display of strength, he hauled the both of us up from the floor, his monocle falling to the side with a clatter. Suddenly finding myself face to face with him was enough to steal my breath away, but I kept grabbing for the photograph, my eyes wide and my breath coming in hot bursts.

“Give it back!” I yelped at him, my voice cracking as his elbow found its place in the soft flesh of my stomach. “Get _out_ of my damned restaurant!

“You wouldn’t _have_ this restaurant if it weren’t for me, Noyabrina!” Peking crowed, holding the picture above my head, eyes glittering cruelly in the lights above us, and the odd glow steadily forming around us. “You cannot treat me in this way! I am not your enemy! My intentions have always been to _help!_ To help you! To help **_Gloriville!_** Unhand me, Noyabrina! Unha…”

That glow was growing brighter and brighter, surrounding us almost, filling the room with some odd, almost musical cracking, and a horrid choking stench of burning wood.

Oh.

_Oh, God no._

I froze, my whole attention suddenly drawn to the countertop to my right, squinting against the light, my stomach giving a lurch so furious that I heaved dryly against Peking, panic flooding my whole body.  
Flames, charred wood, black smoke, the whole thing was alight with fire, no doubt born from the tiny sparks that had flown from Peking’s hand. The speed at which it spread was truly horrifying, it seemed to _spring_ as if it were alive, up to the cabinets above, across to the curtains covering the back door, gobbling up the wood beams supporting the floor above greedily. Somewhere out in the dimly lit dining room, the needle-sharp cry of a smoke alarm suddenly sounded, piercing the half-silence and abruptly jerking me back to reality.

I _screamed._ A long and loud sound that shook my very bones.

_**”PUDDING!”**_ I howled, ripping both myself and the picture away from Peking, my back slamming into the doorframe in my haste to get away. “F-FIRE! _FIRE! **PUDDING!”**_

The dishevelled Food Soul burst into the room in a flurry of golden hair, his eyes bulging as he surveyed the carnage, and with a shrill yelp of his own, he yanked at my shoulders, hauling me out into the dining room and away from the suffocating smoke, bellowing out for the others.  
As we moved, I glanced desperately back towards the kitchen, to the crumbling foundations, to the food stock that would never be eaten, to the tablecloths, cutlery, paper menus, all of it withering away, all of it consumed by flame. Again, _all over again._

Tears came to my eyes then, so thick and fast that they completely blurred my vision, I could only barely make out Tempura and B-52 barrelling past me, I could only barely acknowledge that Pudding had let go of me, propping me up into a chair, his face already dirtied by the ash. 

“Stay here, Nonna!” I thought I heard him cry.

I allowed my head to drop back, my eyes glassy and my body alive with fear. I could hear shouting, desperate scrambling, black silhouettes appearing against the flames, Pudding and Tempura wrestling with someone, B-52 attempting to clear the air with mighty beats of his wings, towering above the rest, his working eye now glowing furiously through the smoke.

Above me, ash swirled, pure white against the sickening red glow that had filled the room, some of it drifted down to settle on my face and neck, warm and soft, a complete contrast to what had caused it. I knew that I would have to move soon, but some part of me refused – or perhaps just couldn’t find the strength – I sat slumped in my chair, only vaguely aware of the chaos surrounding me; shouting, wood crumbling, plates smashing; I could hear B-52’s voice in amongst the cacophony, clear as day and _terrifying_ in its volume. I might’ve heard a scramble, a furious fight; I might’ve seen him looming above the figure of Peking Duck, driving him out of the door to the kitchen, its frame in danger of folding as flames licked along it, spreading to the dining room’s ceiling, weakening the foundations to the point of collapse.

Then there were hands at my shoulders, and panicked shouts next to my ear, a strange and desperate mixture of Pudding and Tempura’s voices; both of them yelling for us to get out, to escape before the whole building came down on top of us. I let myself be dragged through this Hell, through the flames engulfing the restaurant, through the black smoke that had belched out from the kitchen. I let them both pull me, let my heels drag against the floor, my feet collided with a table or chair leg once or twice; some of them were on their sides, some of them were already ablaze.

I remembered wondering how the wretched stuff had spread so quickly.

I remembered thinking how lovely the cold air felt on my face as I was pulled out of the restaurant doors and into the street. There were other people outside besides us, others that had been turfed out of their bed by the noise and the lights; they gathered around us, watching the blaze with their hands over their mouths, all voicing concern and alarm in a language I still didn’t understand. 

Someone was holding me, a large someone, large enough to completely dwarf me in his massive arms; it was all I could do to hold him back, to curl my hands into the fabric of his shirt and press my cheek to his chest. My eyes stared without quite seeing, the glow of the burning restaurant always visible in my line of sight no matter where I turned my eyes.

People were saying my name, I could hear them, and it was in my best interests to nod weakly when they asked if I was alright, the less they worried the better, the less they fussed the better, the aftermath of all this was something I’d have to deal with alone; I really didn’t have another option.

On the horizon, I could see the sun beginning to rise, adorning the darkness with dusty streaks of pink, the light crept into the street, reflecting off of the cobbles, showing me things I hadn’t been able to see before. It illuminated a solitary figure stumbling his way down the street, away from the restaurant and into the market square.

Peking Duck glanced back over his shoulder briefly, his clothes ruined by the ash; strands of dirty hair stuck to his forehead, others blown up by the wind. He still held his braid coiled around his arm, though his fingers twisted and pulled at the tuft at the end, wrapping it around his hands, testing its strength, testing how viciously he could pull before the hairs _broke._

He continued his retreat, and the smoke from the restaurant soon obscured him completely.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the countRy she was told to flee to is abouT as far out of her comfort zone as she could get.

It was Zhouyun who came to our rescue.

It was Zhouyun who had hurried to scrape us up off of Gloriville’s merciless streets before the Guild did, Zhouyun who had housed us, given us food and taken pity on us when everyone else was unable to. It was Zhouyun who had fought tooth and nail to keep an irate Olivia _well away_ from me when the Guild official had finally decided to show her face, about a week after my restaurant had been destroyed.

A week of numbness.

Sleepless nights.

Not that I’d actually _seen_ her face, Zhouyun had stopped her at the door with an arm thrust across to prevent her from taking even one step beyond the threshold. I had been in the kitchen at the time, a cup of one of Zhouyun’s prescribed herbal teas clutched in my hands as if that alone would comfort me, but I had still been close enough to hear the heated conversation between the two women.

“Defying the rules of the Guild; receiving outside help; treading on the toes of myself and countless other officials, and now this! Does she have any idea how much it’s going to cost to repair that restaurant? Zhouyun, please, surely even _you_ can see that Noyabrina has had one too many chances at this point?”

“You have my greatest respect, Olivia, but I cannot allow you to come in if your only intent is to bully the poor girl,” Zhouyun had said doggedly, Olivia’s brutal tone doing nothing to break down the study barrier she had placed between me and the Guild official, “this is not the first time an accident like this has occurred, you only have to look at some of those old restaurants to know that they’re horrendous fire hazards. With that in mind, I must insist that you allow Noyabrina to recover before you speak with her, she has had a terrible fright.”

“You cannot _seriously_ say that you intend on defending this type of juvenile behaviour, Zhouyun? She has undermined mine and the entire _Guild’s_ authority!”

“I am aware, but I am sure that you can brief her on that just as thoroughly when the time is right. But for now, all that she and her Food Souls should be faced with is rest and recovery. I’m sorry, Olivia, but I must insist that you come back another time, I really do have far too much on my plate at the moment, this is my establishment and I will choose to do with it as I please, and if that involves housing a fellow Cooking Attendant, so be it.”

I’d heard a scoff, a truly ugly sound, and the words that followed had done a _marvellous_ job of travelling through to the kitchen, almost as if Olivia had intended for them to reach my ears. I’d been expecting them from her, but that didn’t make them hurt any less.

“’Cooking Attendant’? She’s no such thing anymore, keep her here if you must, but Mister Pan will be in touch shortly to nullify her contracts with her Food Souls. Good day to you.”

But despite the sincerity of her words and the venom in her tone, Pan never came, and as the days melted uneasily into weeks, the tension the promise of his visit had given me slowly began to dissipate. Though Pudding’s reaction to the situation soon caused that tension to grow again, and sprout fresh thorns that clawed at my insides, clogging my windpipe.

“I’ve known Pan for decades, I can read him like a book,” he’d said to me, shifting restlessly atop his chair, “if he really wanted to terminate the contracts you have with B-52 Cocktail and Tempura, he would’ve done it by now.”

“That’s odd,” I’d muttered in response, elbow deep in soapy water, my hands and fingers fumbling clumsily with a stack of dishes I’d promised Zhouyun that I would wash, “there’s no love lost between myself and Pan, what’s stopping him? Maybe he’s just forgotten?”

“If he has, then that is very out of character for him. Pan is not one to forget something like that. Food Souls and the Contracts they share with their Masters are his speciality.” Pudding had replied, skilled fingers carefully picking apart the net curtains of Zhouyun’s kitchen window, peering through them into the garden.

“No birds,” he’d kept mumbling to himself, “why on Tierra is it so quiet?”

I didn’t reply, preferring instead to keep scrubbing away at the dish I’d had held in my hand, even though I had long since cleared away the last of the food residue still clinging to the china.

-

Zhouyun’s house wasn’t big by any means, but that didn’t stop her from somehow finding a place for all of us to sleep. B-52 had chosen the roomy pantry with no hesitation, Tempura – who prided himself on being able to fall asleep anywhere at any time – had heartily taken up the offer of the sofa, which left myself and Pudding to split up the guest bedroom, the same one I had slept in all those months ago upon first arriving in Tierra.  
Whilst everyone else had settled in nicely, Pudding and I had had a furious but mostly silent fight over who should take the bed, and who should set up their own makeshift bed on the floor.

“Listen here, you’re older than me.” I remembered sighing to him, once again taking his pillow up off of the floor and throwing it onto the bed. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, Pudding, you work too hard.”

“And you don’t?” He’d retorted, reaching out to grab the pillow, poised to toss it back onto the floor. “This is silly, Nonna, I _insist_ that you take the bed, we Food Souls are durable! I’m not some old man who will groan and moan from sleeping on the floor for a few nights.”

I’d stared at him helplessly, the ache in my throat soon becoming the clearest thing standing out to me in my mind, a feeling that was only further enhanced by my confusion. Why was I getting upset over this? It was just a small dispute over where we would sleep, could I even count it as a dispute? It was so small, so meaningless, and yet somehow even that tiny smidgen of conflict was enough to bring me to tears.

Pudding, who hadn’t moved from his position beside me and was continuing to protest, had abruptly hesitated at the look on my face, and the tears that had suddenly formed in my eyes. 

“Oh. Oh now, see here… There’s no need to get upset.” He began, but I cut him off before he could speak any more.

“Please just _take the bed.”_ I’d muttered, turning away so I could angrily brush away the salty drops. “I don’t want to argue, I can’t argue…”

“Nonna…”

“I’ve dragged you all into this mess, the least I can do is give you a comfortable place to rest, it’s bad enough Tempura is stuck with the couch and B-52’s stuffed in the stockroom again. You all deserve better than this, you deserve far fucking better, b-better than _me!”_

“Nonna, come here.”

A waft of warm caramel had hit my nose, accompanied by a pair of arms encircling me, holding me to their owner snugly. I’d clung to Pudding desperately in those moments, burying my face into his shoulder, fighting back the urge to cry with little success, and soon the material of his waistcoat shoulder had been darkened with my tears.

“I-I’m sorry,” I’d gasped, my voice rendered almost completely inaudible by the fabric, “I don’t… I-I don’t know what this…”

“This is you taking your first steps,” Pudding had sighed, “this is you beginning to process what has happened, this is progress, Nonna. Please don’t keep this all inside, you _need_ to break down, you _need_ to let yourself cry.”

I couldn’t, how on earth was I supposed to carry on if I couldn’t even argue without crying? I remembered thinking that almost bitterly throughout our embrace, and even hours later when the tears had dried up, and I laid still and quiet underneath my duvet, staring up at the ceiling from my place on the floor. This was the real world, I had to keep a lid on this, I’d done nothing but mope since arriving in Gloriville, and this was where it had got me. 

Why oh why couldn’t I just toughen up?

-

The incident with the sleeping arrangements was the first time my emotions had boiled over, however despite my furious attempts at self discipline, it was the first of many times I’d found myself completely unable to function, the first of _many_ times I had been reduced to tears by the smallest of inconveniences, so overwhelming and so sudden that I was often left unable to think straight for hours at a time afterwards.  
I knew what was happening, it was as Pudding had said; my body and brain were both finally reacting to everything I’d seen on the night of Spaghetti’s ball, but knowing what it all meant didn’t make the experience any better, in fact it made it worse.

Two more weeks passed me by, weeks that were blurred with tears, clogged by nightmares, and slowly but surely my lack of sleep began to show, though I endeavoured to keep it skin deep. Zhouyun didn’t want some bum lazing around her house after all, even if my pinched appearance an the bags under my eyes squandered any chance of me helping her with her actual clientele, she had assured me time and time again that just helping with cleaning up was more than enough.

“We’ll find another job for you, Nonna, don’t you worry yourself!” She kept on saying to me, though her optimistic tone had long since worn away. “You’re doing your very best to help me, and I appreciate that. Just… Focus on getting better, you need to sleep, dear.”

She was right, I needed far more sleep than I was currently getting, I was becoming more and more aware of that each time I looked in a mirror. At this point, the raggedness of my appearance was rivalled only by that of Yuxiang’s, who had been completely absent from the house for the first week of my stay. Eventually however, I had spotted her one afternoon, making a tray of light snacks for herself, and though she seemed quite compos mentis, it wasn’t hard to see that she swayed where she stood, it wasn’t hard for one to notice her bleary eyes, or her dull, lifeless skin. It was an alarming contrast to how she had looked when I’d first met her, gone were her sparkling eyes and the wit in her smile, it was if that woman had never existed at all. 

I vaguely remembered Peking saying something about her health, but vaguely was all I could manage before the fear began to curl in my stomach once again, thinking about Peking was something I just couldn’t do. Not to mention that Yuxiang probably wasn’t terribly keen to talk to the person who had disgraced her friend, or whatever Peking was to her. 

And so things went on.

The nightmares continued, the dreary routine of every day life repeated itself again and again, and Pudding’s encouragement – appreciated at first – was now feeling more like orders from a drill sergeant than anything else. It was clear what had happened to him, he could no longer mask the worry, the sheer desperation he felt at our situation. It seemed that he, rather like the rest of us, had fallen into an uneasy routine, a routine that we couldn’t escape, a routine that none of us had ever wanted.

“We’ll make progress, Nonna,” he kept on saying to me, his voice all I could hear through the pitch darkness of our shared room, “I promise you, we’ll make progress. We _will.”_

-

Five weeks. Or was it four? Six? I couldn’t tell.

-

“Oh, Nonna! I cannot stand to see you like this any longer!” Zhouyun cried suddenly, jerking me out of my memories, her shrill voice startling me enough to drop the spatula I’d been just about to put away. “Just look at you, you’re a nervous wreck! This has gone on for too long, we need _something_ to perk you up, we need something that is going to get your mind off of all that horrible business with Spaghetti and the restaurant.”

“I’m okay, Zhouyun,” I lied automatically, bending down to pick up the spatula, fighting to ignore the way my head swam when I stood back up, “I just need some sleep.”

“Yes, but you aren’t getting it, and it’s no wonder when you’re sitting around here all day, thinking about everything that has happened,” Zhouyun replied, moving across to lay a hand atop mine, patting it carefully as she continued, “what you need is an outing! Somewhere where you won’t have time to think about things quite as much, and luckily for you I know _just_ the thing! Here, let me finish putting away those things.”

As we switched positions, I searched for an opportunity to slip away, perhaps I could sidestep quickly into the next room, but Zhouyun was quicker.

“Have you ever heard of the Dongzhi festival?” She asked; the draws rattling as she dropped silverware into their appropriate slots. “Probably not, but it’s our winter solstice, during which families and friends meet up and make tangyuan to eat together, though I must say that the Gloriville crowd has added a few extra touches to it in recent years…”

“We don’t have to make these things, do we?” I asked, a note of apprehension creeping into my voice. Just the thought of making food was enough to make my stomach turn over. “The… Tang whatsits? Because if we do, then this might not be the festival for me.”

“Don’t fret, Nonna, tangyuan are easy to make,” Zhouyun chirped, apparently relieved that I was showing an interest in the festival, “I will show you how, and even if you don’t grasp it at first, there will be plenty of Tangyuan Food Souls wandering around at the festival, I’m sure they will be delighted to show you how.”

Needless to say, none of this sounded appealing to me in any way, I twisted my lips and pretended to think about it in order to spare Zhouyun’s feelings, but soon it became clear that the Cooking Attendant was having none of it today.

“At least come for the lanterns they light on the water,” she encouraged softly, dark eyes imploring me to _consider,_ “even if you don’t want to take part, it’s quite a spectacle to see. It’s not normally a part of the festival, but it is a wonderful thing to watch. Please come, if you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me, dear. Please?”

I stared at her without quite seeing her, only dimly aware that she’d taken both of my hands in hers, like a mother trying to persuade her bratty child to play nice. I couldn’t take my situation out on Zhouyun, it just wasn’t fair, considering everything she had done for me, refusing her now just wouldn’t sit right with me, and if there was one thing I didn’t need, it was something _else_ not sitting right with me.

“Yeah, okay,” I said, almost smiling at the look of relief that immediately softened Zhouyun’s face, “I’ll go. Might do me some good, who knows.”

-

My next steps were blurred, charred, withered away to ash just like my restaurant had done.

Just the thought of the place caused a lump to grow in my throat.

Above me, I heard Pudding snuffle and mumble in his sleep, and something about the sound finally coaxed my hands to fling the duvet up and off of me, ridding myself of the suffocating layer. I needed a drink, and there was no way I was getting any sleep if I continued to dwell like this; but dwell I did, and would no doubt continue to do so until I had driven myself mad.

Maybe if they caught wind of my mental state, they’d come knocking again… Hah. Let them try.

Consumed with guilt and bitterness, I descended the stairs to Zhouyun’s vast kitchen, doing my best to move as quietly as I could, I was tired and in a dreadful mood – that was for certain – but I wasn’t about to rob everyone else of sleep too, we all needed as much as we could get. I poured myself a glass of water and slumped against the countertop, letting my eyes get used to the gloom. Somewhere next door, I heard Tempura grunt in his sleep, a short and rather loud sound that put a smile on my face. If I concentrated enough, I could pretend that I was back in the restaurant, listening to him grunting and sighing from the floor above.  
As loud as Tempura’s snoring was, it still wasn’t enough to cover up the rumbling and the whirring that slowly but surely filled the kitchen.

I pursed my lips, sipping from my water carefully as if drinking too fast would upset my already tortured stomach.

“B, I know you’re there,” I called, trying my hardest to soften my voice, “I can hear you.”

The enormous cyborg slowly crept from the pantry door, his sheer height filling up the whole room, blocking the patchy moonlight that filtered in through the circular window, casting a monstrous shadow onto the walls. I knew that at one point such a sight would’ve frightened me, but now I felt comforted by his presence, almost smothered by it.  
B-52 regarded my carefully for a few moments, and a complete silence soon fell between the two of us before I finally chose to break it.

“Can’t you sleep either?”

He tilted his head with a click. “I do not need to sleep. I have periods in which I allow my body to rest and cool from the day’s work, I…”

“That _is_ sleep, B,” I sighed, mirth very nearly twisting my mouth into a smile, I offered him the glass, “do you want some water?”

“I would like to talk with you.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably, I’d been afraid of this, B-52 liked to talk and I was unpleasantly aware of the fact that we hadn’t even had the time to look at each other since Spaghetti’s ball. But of course talking was all part of growth, _his_ growth; he needed this and I needed to show him I cared. I nodded my ascent, and he immediately moved to stand beside me, hands held before him, the fingers twisting and locking with their owner’s apparent loss as to what to do with them.

Silence fell again, but only for a few excruciating moments.

“Nonna. What does love feel like?”

“Jesus Christ, B,” I sighed, setting down my glass with a hearty thud, “that’s not an easy question to answer.”

“I would like for you to try. Please?”

That wasn’t a tone I could ignore, it was one that I hadn’t heard in this voice before, a plea, begging almost, and the near-desperate way he looked at me only made it worse.

“Well, first of all, love feels different for everyone.” I murmured, hitching myself up to sit atop the counter, wincing as I brushed a mug tree with my thigh, causing the whole thing to rattle. From next door, I heard Tempura grunt in his sleep again.

“But for me, love is intensity,” I continued, wondering what the best way to put all of this was, really I couldn’t believe that I was even having this discussion with him, “I’m sorry if what I’m saying makes no sense.”

“Please continue.” He urged me, leaning across to me a little, metal hands splayed across the table, dangerously close to me.

I fought not to let my emotions sweep me off of my feet, we were close enough to kiss again, but this was really _not_ the time. I was unsure if there would ever be an appropriate time again, what with the way I was feeling.

“It’s intense in the way it behaves,” I began again, glancing up at him through my eyelashes, meeting that one working eye, “you can never tell when you’re falling in love until it smacks you right across the face. Then all of a sudden it’s there in your chest, it’s like a weight, but a comforting one; it’s warm and it makes you feel…”

“Protected.” B-52 finished, moving closer and closer still until both of his hands were splayed on the table, either side of my hips, and that glowing eye was suddenly right in front of me, pulsing softly.  
I stared balefully back at him, fully aware of how dangerous this situation was becoming, but what alarmed me the most was that I couldn’t bring myself to be afraid. Gone was the sickening spike of fear each time I thought of us together, gone was the swooping feeling in my stomach each time I…

“Yes, protected.” I mumbled, and suddenly my hands were at his back, my arms pulling him to me as he did likewise, I nestled my chin into the dip where his shoulder met his neck, and I let loose a gentle breath. We stayed tangled up in each other for a few, oddly tense moments, until a shuddering sigh left him, his shoulders sagging as he relaxed into me further.

“I… Want to feel that intensity.” He murmured, his voice low and rumbling.

I held onto him tightly, wondering when those words were going to fully hit home, wondering when I would start to feel that anxiety, that tension. This was all so _dangerous,_ dangerous for him and dangerous for me, so why oh _why_ was my body not reacting the way it should?

“B-52,” I began, feeling every word pressing down onto my windpipe like a physical _weight,_ “I’m not the right person for you.”

A pause.

“Says who?” He asked, and in his voice I could hear a bite of cheek, a note of mischief I had never heard before. “You comfort me, you make me feel warm, you’ve made me feel _human,_ Nonna, a war machine like me who…”

“Stop,” I implored him sharply, hands suddenly gipping into the soft cotton of his shirt, my forehead buried into the crook of his shoulder, “don’t… Don’t call yourself that. I can’t stand to…”

My words ground to a halt, in contrast to the gentle way in which we’d held each other, the object suddenly pressed against my chest was anything but. It only took a split second for me to realise what it was, to recognise the cold metal biting its way through my nightdress to my bare skin beneath. Trembling, I released B-52’s shirt and slowly but surely allowed my fingers to trace out what he had so insistently given me. There it was, pressed against my bosom, a nine millimetre narrow block of steel, dented and scraped, but clearly still functional.

I shoved it back at him harshly.

“I don’t want… I… Where did you even find this thing? Get it away from me.”

B-52 grasped both of my hands in his, encasing the firearm in a mixed cradle of flesh and steel. He bowed his head so that he could rest it against my knuckles, drawing yet another shaky breath; it was a gut wrenching sight to see, and somewhere within me I felt something twist, as if someone had grabbed a handful of roots and were aiming to pull them out of the ground. My nerves were being put through hell seeing him like this, and the weapon still held in my hands made it all worse.

“I found it in the restaurant, when the fire spread to the stockroom,” he began to explain, that blue iris angled back up to me, “it had bullets in it, so I thought it best to remove it before it could go off due to the heat.”

“But why give it to _me?”_ I hissed, trying once again to shove the gun back at him, but he kept up that iron grip around my hands, though at one point I felt his fingers buckle a tad.

“I saw you use Brownie’s cannon, you know what you’re doing, Nonna. You know how to use this, you can keep yourself safe.”

“I told you, I never want to so much as look at one of these things again!”

B-52 pulled me against him once more, leaving me clutching onto the pistol for dear life while he did just the same to me. I could feel him shivering, something that only heightened the discomfort raging on and on within me. Somewhere within the mess of my own brain, I heard the Food Soul sigh, and with that sigh carried more words, each cutting deeper than the last.

“I want you to be safe. I want you to have protection,” he spoke hoarsely and his voice was strained, clearly longing to shout, “you’re human, you’re fragile, your life is so… I-I have seen too many who… People I… My Master Attendant, Gn… He… My … My Nonno, they’re all…”

“B, please, stop.” I cut him off, pulling back so that I could reach up to once again press my fingers to his lips, wincing as they trembled against my skin. The cyborg looked near deranged; working eye bulging and his shoulders hunched, tremors rocking his frame. I had no idea what had caused such a reaction in him, yet somehow, simultaneously I had a sinking feeling that I knew _all too well._

Silence fell between us, a stark contrast to the state of my mind, which was anything but. However, in that moment I realised that this had gone too far, _beyond_ far if I was honest with myself, I knew that I should’ve stopped this whole charade months ago, should I even have set it up in the first place? I had thought of nothing but my own safety and my own secrecy upon arriving in Gloriville, but now the situation had changed, _I_ had changed, perhaps it was time to finally think about…

I looked up into B-52’s face, half hoping that he would abandon this tricky conversation and go back to bed, but he stayed where he stood, frozen under my touch, as cold and stoic as the weapon cradled in my spare hand.

I had to let him have this. He had come so far since I had met him; it was time for me to be a team player, as much as I didn’t want to.

“Okay, okay… I’ll take it.” I murmured, letting my hand fall from his mouth, and my eyes angle down to the firearm in my hand. It glinted sickeningly in the moonlight shining in from the window, a reminder of everything I had once sworn to leave behind, all snugly packed into a tiny metal case. “Not happily, but I know you worry about me, and… I appreciate that.” 

B-52’s frame relaxed, and his joints groaned with the effort, down he went until he had sunk to his knees, and his head almost rested in my lap. I absent-mindedly trailed a hand through his hair, reminded suddenly and rather unpleasantly of the restaurant, and the very first time he had shown me this type of vulnerability, this weakness.

No, no, not weakness. Humanity.

“You need sleep.” I murmured to him. “God… And so do I.”  
-

For the first time since my arrival, Tierra was glowing.

Even though my outlook on the whole affair of this festival was still sullen, I had to admit that the sight was an utterly spectacular one. Every street our quaint little group walked down was ablaze with lanterns, all dancing merrily in the winter wind that whistled through the narrow alleyways. Every doorway, every porch, every window was lit, and as families squeezed by our group, I could see that every excited child held a smaller lantern of their own carefully in their hands, lanterns that would no doubt be set onto the water later. 

It truly did seem as though no dark crevice or gloomy corner had been left unlit.

Because of the bulk of our party and the narrowness of Gloriville’s streets, we kept a slow pace, and therefore ended up having plenty of time to enjoy the atmosphere as we walked. Tempura had insisted on bringing up the rear ‘for our safety’, but none of us were fooled for long, as he ended up spending all of his time admiring the sight around him, but luckily there didn’t seem to be a single Fallen on the street.

“The Fallen favour the dark as you know, but with all these lanterns, they probably can’t tell what time of day it is.” Zhouyun said happily to me as our journey took us deeper still into Gloriville’s City centre. She and Yuxiang had taken up the front of the group; the latter looked much better than she had done for a while, but she still leant on her Attendant slightly for support. In her delicate hands, she carried an intricate lacquer bamboo basket full of the strange little desserts Zhouyun had mentioned to me.

“That, and the Food Souls stationed by the Guild will keep them from sneaking in, Master” she chirped to Zhouyun before turning to me, smiling a serene smile, “it’s all perfectly safe, Miss Nonna, please don’t look so worried.”

I didn’t reply, though her tone was friendly, conversation between Yuxiang and I felt a little awkward, and besides I was still far too busy digesting the whole scene; it really was unlike anything I had seen before. I had taken part in festivals back home of course, but as much as I didn’t like to admit it, they fell rather short in comparison to everything I saw here. Perhaps it was the constant threat they lived under that had made the residents of Gloriville so eager to put absolutely everything into their celebrations. That certainly made sense to me, with the world in this pitiful state, any and all excuses to have a good time would automatically be seized, it was a mind set that I knew very well indeed. In spite of my appalling mood, I felt the corner of my mouth tremble a little. Would it come back to bite me if I allowed myself to enjoy this one evening? 

As we continued our journey, I suddenly realised that I knew where we were, these claustrophobic alleyways and streets that formed a winding, downhill path surely meant we could only be heading to one location. Well, of course, Zhouyun had mentioned lanterns on the water, and where else in Gloriville had I seen water?

The City’s port was packed with people, and a gentle but excited buzz of talk hung over the whole scene. All around us, lanterns flickered from posts, airships and boats, ranging from tiny dots to enormous structures, all of them swinging in the wind like their smaller siblings back in the City centre. All around us, little wooden table and chair sets had been arranged for the cluster of families in attendance, each simply but tastefully set with plates, bowls and – strangely enough – small vases of pink flowers here and there. How they were surviving in this cold was a mystery to me, half of the people sitting at the tables barely looked as if they were coping with the temperature and they were all bundled up in their winter coats.  
Much to my dismay, their solution to the winter chill came in the form of a huge bonfire roaring away to our far left, filling the air with a far more sinister glow than the lanterns provided. The very sight made me shudder.

“Nobody told me there would be a fire here.” I muttered to no one in particular, but within seconds I felt a hand on my shoulder, accompanied by Pudding’s soothing voice in my ear.

“Don’t let that fear start up, Nonna,” he said gently, his thumb stroking the fabric of my coat’s shoulder gently, “every second you spend alongside that fire is progress. Keep that in mind, you can do this.”

I nodded unconsciously, yet despite his words I made a point of leading our party towards the table furthest away from the fire; a family of three were already seated there, and all stared with bewilderment as we came towards them. I knew without a doubt that the object of their confusion was B-52, but a quick glance in his direction told me that he hadn’t even noticed, and so we found our places alongside them. However, their looks of confusion did not waver, and in the end Zhouyun had to slide across to their side of the table to console them, presenting them a tier of the food basket as a peace offering. Yuxiang soon joined her, smiling bravely and making polite conversation with which to distract them further.

Due to the table’s size, I sat squashed in between Tempura and B-52, though I was hardly worried about the space, I was too focused on the heat on my back. I truly had no idea how I could still feel the fire from this distance, but I urged my anxious mind to recall the words Pudding had said to me, every second was progress, every second…

“Hey, Master Attendant! Hold still!”

Confused, I glanced up at Tempura’s cheery voice just in time to see those great hands of his reach for a flower vase sitting just opposite him, with a grin plastered on his face, he made quick work of plucking a few of the flower heads and tucking them into the thick bun I’d hastily twisted my hair up into before leaving. I sat there completely bewildered until he had completed his task, and at the sight of his handiwork he nodded enthusiastically, amber eyes twinkling. Across the table, I heard Yuxiang titter politely behind her hand, and I immediately felt my cheeks begin to burn savagely. 

“There! Those plum blossoms suit your hair! You kinda remind me of the dancing girls back home now.” He chortled, popping the second tier of the food basket open, offering me the sweet dumplings inside. “You want one of these? They’ll warm you up! Watch your hands though, that syrup they’re in is real sticky.”

To my horror, I felt my lips trembling, and the sudden urge to cry well up within me once again until my eyes were both blurred with tears. It was as Pudding had said, my body was catching up to the horror I’d seen all of those weeks ago, anything could set me off, including this. Tempura was trying so hard for me, they all were; everything my three Food Souls – no – my three _friends_ had done over the last five weeks had been for each other and for me. They were consciously making an attempt to move on, to make the best of a bad situation, and what was I doing? Sitting around and moping, and I had been doing _nothing_ but that for ages, could I afford to go through all of that again? Did I have a choice?

“Ah hey… You alright, Master?” Tempura’s voice came floating into my head, physically jerking me out of my trance, a jerk that caused the tears to fall from my eyes, a sight that clearly alarmed the Defence Soul. “Did I say something? I can take the flowers out of your hair if...”

“N-No, no.” I said, reaching out to pluck one of the little sweet balls from the basket tier, Tempura was quite right, the syrup was sticky, incredibly so, but the dessert itself made up for the unpleasant texture. “Leave them in, I’ve never worn flowers in my hair before. Aha, gosh. These are good… Really good.”

Tempura grinned, my sudden change in attitude apparently hadn’t been strange to him, and as he got to his feet, he left the basket beside me, his eyes turned towards the water.

“I’m gonna go and get a good spot for watching those lanterns, I can see a bunch of people getting ready to release them, eat up, Master!”

I watched him go with a small smile, something that was barely present on my face, but a smile nevertheless. Opposite me, I caught Pudding’s eye as he too stood up, his expression was calm and collected, with a faint ghost of a smile playing along his lips too. Once again there was that strange feeling of understanding between us, that little spark that I had once been so afraid of, but now it felt oddly comforting, like I had _someone_ there who understood, at least partially.

“I’m going to join him.” He said softly, reaching over to pinch a rice ball out of the basket. “Feel free to do the same once you have finished those tangyuan.”

All around me, the gentle chatter of talk slowly closed in, but instead of feeling swamped, I found that I rather enjoyed the sensation. Chewing on another rice ball, I turned to look up at B-52, smiling lightly as I realised his eye was focused straight ahead, watching the water for any signs of the lanterns. I reached my elbow out to nudge him, and had to stifle a laugh as his head whipped around to look at me, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he relaxed, a few faint wisps of steam rising up from beneath his scarf.

“Do you want to join them?” I asked, cocking my head towards the water. “I know they’re not out there yet, but we could at least try to get a good place to watch them. There’s already a bit of a crowd along the bank.”

“Mn.” He agreed, standing up from his chair hurriedly. “Take the basket with you if you wish. You seem to be enjoying those little… Balls.”

As I good to my feet, I looked across to Zhouyun’s side of the table, and was pleased to see that Yuxiang was still laughing, talking and enjoying herself, if anyone needed a good night out, it was definitely her. Zhouyun met my gaze with a kindly smile, gesturing towards the water too.

“Go on ahead, we’ll catch up with you a little later, Yuxiang need to rest her legs. Besides, we cannot let these tangyuan go to waste.”

There were several wooden rafts floating on the water before our table, it provided the best view of the display without a doubt, but none of them looked even the tiniest bit safe. However, that hadn’t stopped various festival attendees – all clutching their lanterns – from crowding onto them, all gently pushing each other and scuffling to try and get the best spot to release their lanterns. As we moved further towards them, the front row of people suddenly dipped down, and the rippling black water was soon streaked with red. I watched with something teetering on content as the first lantern sailed into view, followed by several more, and then several more… 

“We’re never going to fit you on one of those tiny rafts, come on.” I called to B-52, gesturing for him to follow me as I wove my way through the crowd; I had spotted a stack of crates to our right, atop which a few people who hadn’t braved the rickety platforms on the water had climbed.

“We could watch from there.”

B-52 nodded solemnly. “I will help you up.”

As it turned out, it also proved to be a struggle to get B-52 up onto the crate, a struggle that earned quite a few mumbled protests from the people we’d joined, with the odd gasp of fear punctuating the whole affair. The noise wasn’t a loud one, but in contrast to how little things like this usually affected him, B-52 looked more than a little put out, something that I noticed almost immediately.

“Hey, don’t worry about them,” I muttered to him, offering what I hoped was a soothing smile, “if they have a problem with you then they can leave, it’s as simple as that.”

B-52 didn’t look reassured.

“Can I take one of your hands?” He asked suddenly, hunching his shoulders as if to shield himself from the whispering people. I paused for a moment, within which my common sense sprang forward to urge me not to, to urge me to think it over. I put my hand out to him and metal met flesh, curling around each other as if they were one.

That _warmth_ was back again, in amongst the biting chill of winter that nipped at my face, I could feel it gently thawing my insides, chipping away at the ice, nurturing me slowly but surely back to my usual self. Before us, the lanterns calmly spread out through the water, carving a lit path for themselves through the gentle black waves, nudged along by the wind. More and more fanned out, filling the port with a similar glow to Gloriville’s streets, hundreds upon hundreds of them, until the water sparkled merrily with their light. 

B-52 looked simply transfixed again; it was a similar expression to the one he had worn while watching the snow all those months ago. There was a soft, _human_ touch to his features, one that defied the synthetic skin; the bandage he still wore over his malfunctioning scanner; the exposed metal that glimmered in the combined moonlight and light from the lanterns, that look transcended the materials that had been used to build and alter him, it was something that I could not look away from.

“I hope those seagulls will not mistake the lanterns for food.” He said to me suddenly, metal fingers gently squeezing my hand tentatively, as if I would break.

I took a shaking breath, a rash and frankly insane decision suddenly rising up within me. Fuck. I couldn’t do this, not anymore, I had dealt with denial for too long, now was the time, even if it was just him, it was far better than letting this continue to grow and fester. 

“B,” I began, “I need… I need to tell you about…”

But my voice was suddenly drowned out by a cacophony of noise above us. Seagulls! That screeching definitely came from those skyrats, but where they hell had they come from? Why on earth had they…

I blinked, abruptly taking notice of the situation around me; people were yelping, batting away at their heads, sheltering themselves from a sudden onslaught of birds. There weren’t just seagulls flying past us, there were starlings, magpies, doves! Birds of every colour, shape and size, all pelting at full tilt through the crowd, out over our heads and away from the port, all of them crying out into the night, their calls echoing eerily across the water.  
Beside me, B-52 put his own hands up, swatting away at the sudden assault and within moments everyone around him was doing exactly the same thing. The crate that we had stood upon was vacated immediately as everyone scrambled down from them, covering their heads and squealing.

“What the fuck…” I mumbled, tugging at B’s sleeve in order to coax him down from the crate, but even as we moved, the birds did not stop. I couldn’t even conjure up an estimate for how many of them there were, it was as if every single bird on Gloriville had been spooked simultaneously, as if…

To my left there came a horrendous scream, a long and drawn out shout of pain, one that chilled me right to my core, spreading tendrils of ice through the veins and arteries I had managed to thaw out. As B-52 and I fought our way back through the crowd, I suddenly realised who had screamed. Back at our table, Yuxiang had toppled sideways off of her seat, and was now being supported by a trembling Zhouyun, who was muttering to her frantically in her native tongue, trying to get her to respond.

“Zhouyun!” I called to her, flopping down onto the ground beside her, but any intention of asking what was wrong soon died in my throat as I caught sight of Yuxiang. The Food Soul’s eyes had rolled back in her head, and her pale hands scrabbled desperately at her chest, clawing, swiping, as if there was something suffocating her.

“Something is… I-I don’t know what happened…” Zhouyun hissed to me, her face taught with distress. “She just… She fell, I thought she was frightened by the birds at first, but this isn’t fright, this isn’t shock, something is happening to her!”

Utterly bewildered and panic stricken, I moved over to sit on Yuxiang’s other side, completely unsure of what to do or say until a sudden hand at my coat collar drew a small scream from me. The Food Soul had grabbed hold of me from the floor, and now that our eyes properly met I could see that her pupils were fully dilated to the point where the irises were almost black. Yuxiang mouthed something at me, a painful rasp, completely inaudible, at least it was at first…

“Pe… eking…” She choked to me, the hand at my collar slipping momentarily before it found its place again, pulling at the fabric, lowering me down so she could whisper desperately into my ear. “Get…. F-Find him… Pek… Peking…. Find him…!”

I pulled away from her with a shudder, watching desperately as her hand fell back to the ground, and her head lolled sideways into Zhouyun’s lap. The Cooking Attendant looked utterly helpless, unable to do anything but sweep away the hair clinging to Yuxiang’s forehead, murmuring words of comfort to the distressed Food Soul.

I felt something nudge my shoulder, and I looked up from the floor to see that B-52 had moved closer to us. Still holding up one hand to keep his face sheltered from the deluge of birds, his free hand slowly but deliberately pulled up the strip of fabric I had placed over his broken scanner, allowing himself to look upon the scene with both eyes, with _both_ scanners.

“Come on.” He said to me suddenly, bending down to pull me up by the scruff of my neck, I yelped out in surprise and protests spewed from my mouth, but the words were completely lost in the pandemonium surrounding us. We moved swiftly through the panicking crowd, or rather B-52 navigated the way out, keeping me close to him the whole way. All I could do was peddle my legs as fast as I could and hope to God that I wouldn’t trip up on anything, the very last thing I needed was for him to literally drag me out.

“She is an Enhanced Fallen,” the cyborg growled to me, the tension so evident in his body that the air seemed to crackle with it, “did you see her? Her body is going into spasms, she is days, if not hours away from corrupting fully.”

 _“What!?”_ I hissed at him, finally managing to wrench myself free from his grip. “What the… I’m… _Look,_ B-52, come on, how did you magically come to that conclusion?”

He let out an impatient huff, expelling steam from under his clothes once again as he pointed to his ruined eye.

“This scanner,” he said, flinching as another bird flew past him, squawking fit to burst, “it is giving me similar results to the ones it picked up around you. Do you remember when I attacked you?”

“Vividly.” I grunted, though I wasn’t really listening, preferring instead to stand up on my tiptoes to get a better look at the carnage we’d left behind. “We need to go back there, we can’t just leave them! Pudding and Tempura are down there too, why did you drag me out like that?”

“The Food Soul known as Yuxiang is an Enhanced Fallen!”

“According to you!” I cried to him, still straining to catch even the faintest glimpse of Pudding or Tempura, but they were nowhere to be seen in amongst the rushing people and the fleeing birds.

“Nonna, please.” B-52’s hands were suddenly at my shoulders, I flinched away from him, suddenly realising in one fell swoop just how close I had come to blabbing to him, and just how _dangerous_ things were between us now that he had taken off that makeshift eye patch. “Listen to me. The body belonging to the Food Soul known as Yuxiang is undergoing changes. Changes that I thought I saw in you, but I am not mistaken this time; this time the data adds up.”

“In what way?” I demanded, bowing my head hurriedly as another bird flew past me.

“Nonna. Think about this, look around you,” B-52 urged, a note of raw emotion slowly entering his voice, an urgency, a panic, “these birds are flying away from Gloriville, they’re flying away from Tierra; the Food Soul known as Yuxiang has been unwell for quite some time, has she not?”

I stared back at him, fighting to think of just one thing to say in response, to think of something to rebuke all of this, to reject that this was happening. It just didn’t add up to me; how could Yuxiang be the Enhanced Fallen? She had been the one to tell me about it in the first place!

“She… Ah… She and Peking are friends I think,” I muttered, without quite realising what I was saying, “he… Y-Yeah, he looked after her while she was sick…. Oh, God. B? Whatever ends up being wrong with her, you don’t think I made it worse by pissing him off, do you?”

“Nonna…”

I grabbed the cyborg’s collar suddenly, my eyes wide, panic flaring up inside me, turning my limbs and my brain to ice.

“If she’s going to turn and she’s asking for Peking then… B, that means he can stop this! O-Or at least it means he can delay it! Fuck, ugh… _Shit,_ no wonder she was asking for him!”

I released the confused Food Soul, turning sharply on my heel, staring up the narrow street that lead back towards Gloriville’s City centre, a feeling of helplessness slowly but surely replacing the panic, but that was rather like pouring arsenic into an open wound. 

“Where… Where did he even _go?”_ I blustered, turning this way and that before finally settling back onto B-52. “I never want to even look at him again, let alone track him down! Oh, B, it’s been five weeks, he could be on the other side of Tierra by now! How the fuck are we supposed to find him before Yuxiang turns?”

B-52 cocked his head to the side slightly, the blue light of his working eye dulling for a fraction of a second, as if he were beginning to feel the drag of the day. “We should consult the Guild.” He said suddenly, that eye lighting up once again. “Or their summoning attendant, we could…”

“I am not going anywhere near the Guild, they can go to Hell for all I care,” I grunted, pressing my fingers to my forehead, nursing a small headache that was threatening to bloom into a migraine, I unzipped my coat to try and coax the winter air inside, anything to cool my suddenly overheated body, “but… Pan might be nicer, he _might,_ Pudding said he knows everything about Food Souls, maybe he’ll have some… Fucking vague idea of where to start.”

B-52 paused for thought, his head still cocked slightly to the side before he gestured to my open coat.

“You’re wearing the pistol.” He said shortly.

I froze, my fingers feathering momentarily against the firearm, and the makeshift holster I had strapped it to my thigh with. The mere thought of being faced with a situation in which I would have to use it sickened me to the pit of my stomach.  
I cast one, last desperate glance back towards the port, struggling to make out anyone’s silhouette, let alone Tempura or Pudding’s; but there was no time to stand around and wait for them, what with Yuxiang’s dismal condition.

“Let’s… Just go.” I muttered, turning back to the street before me. “Before the whole of Gloriville ends up like my restaurant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet y'all weren't expecting THAT huh? jhuygtfrDYTFU. A cruel irony if there ever was any; and now it's a big ol race against the clock, oh joy!
> 
> Thanks for reading once again! This story is very nearly finished, I'm afraid!!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A woman named Nonna is forced to flee from her home due to its near-destruction, and unfortunately for her, the countRy she was told to flee to is about as far out of Her comfort zone as she could get.

As the night wore on, Gloriville’s blazing streetlamps slowly clicked back into life, filling the market square with a harsh yellow glare that completely cancelled out the lanterns that hung in clusters around them. The harsh, yellow glare was in direct and rather unpleasant contrast to the soft glow the lanterns had given it.   
B-52 and I moved quickly, our hurried footsteps echoing loudly on the cobblestones, both of us startled at how quiet everything was; without the chatter of people and of course with no birdsong, the whole place had an eerie, dead feel to it.

Within my stomach, a feeling of dread was slowly uncoiling, and every second that passed I became more and more aware of just how little time we had left. I’d never seen any Food Soul or human turn before, how long did the process take? How much could we afford to stall? Those things just didn’t bear thinking about.  
Pan was a good place to start – sure – but I also had to consider the possibility that he would either be unable or unwilling to help us, especially _me._ From day one he had made it abundantly clear that he had no time for me, and from what I remembered, his opinion of B-52 wasn’t much different.

At long last we reached the familiar street, and with each shop we passed, the feeling of déjà vu inside my chest grew stronger and stronger. The memory of walking up this street with Olivia felt like a thousand years ago, in which I had grown and aged an impossible amount. Before I had escaped here, Gloriville had been a place of sanctuary to me, a beacon of hope, a chance to keep on living; but of course I had been ignorant of its structure back then, of the people and of the rigorous systems set in place. Could this place – for all of its beauty and culture – truly be called refuge? I didn’t think so, not after everything I had seen and done here. Survival in Gloriville was one thing, but the quality of life that it provided felt like the very bare minimum to me. 

I was sure that all the other Cooking Attendants in Gloriville who had suddenly been shoved into the deep end would agree with me.

The _second_ Pan’s door came into my line of sight, I slammed my palms against it with a _smack,_ watching as a good deal of dust showered down before my eyes from the doorframe; no answer. Behind me, B-52 reached out a gigantic hand and knocked ever so politely on the window beside me.

“Mister Pan?” He called, his voice soft yet urgent. “We must speak with you. Please?”

Still no reply, nothing except a series of clatters that suddenly sounded from inside the shop.

_”Pan!”_ I yelled, thudding my clenched fist against the door. “Open up! We know you’re in there, this is serious! We need to ask you something!”

More scrambling came from within, a frantic and panicked noise, as if someone were trying to find the best place in which to hide themselves. A few, tense seconds passed, before a hiss suddenly sounded through the keyhole.

“Remove yourself from my front door, Noyabrina! I have nothing to say to a layabout like you!”

“We just want to ask you a question!” I snapped back at him, hammering on the door once again, as if all my desperation alone would yield results. “It’s urgent! The whole of Gloriville will be in danger if you…”

A tiny panel in the door suddenly slid back with a click, and Pan’s furious eye appeared in the gap, bulging fit to burst.

“You’re delusional, Noyrbrina. Do you have any idea what time it is? Leave this instant or I will be forced to report this to the Guil…”

He broke off with a yelp, as the sound of breaking glass suddenly punctured the still night air. Beside me, B-52 stood grim faced, his whole arm stuck through one of Pan’s blacked out windows, the glass from which tumbled down to rest at his feet with a series of musical clattering.

Inside the shop, Pan’s annoyance skyrocketed to pure and unchecked fury.

“Vandalism!” He shrieked through the slot. “You’re paying to repair that! Never in all my time here have I seen such _**thuggish**_ tactics!”

“Dear God, B,” I groaned, putting my face right up to the door, “Pan, listen. We just need to know where Peking Duck is, all we want to do is talk to you!”

Pan snorted, a sound that was quite incredible to hear coming from him.

“How should I know where he is? He doesn’t even come from Gloriville and his class certainly do not come from the summoning pool! Go and find his pawnshop, his staff will know where he is. Why don’t you seek out the people who can actually help you? Rather than telling your henchman to break my windows!” 

“I act of my own accord.” B-52 retorted, his voice so low that it sent a chill down my spine, apparently Pan felt the same way as a very tense silence followed the cyborg’s words.  
Frustrated, I jabbed a finger through the door’s peephole, satisfied to hear Pan stumble and curse as a result.

“Listen. We know you might not know exactly where it is, but _everyone_ in Gloriville heard about my restaurant! You talk to so many Cooking Attendants and you summon _so_ many Food Souls; you must’ve heard something, surely! Even knowing where to start looking is better than nothing!”

Pan snorted once again, a dry chuckle sounding through the door’s tiny panel.

“The nerve of you, Noyabrina, really, after all the trouble you have caused myself and the Guild, you expect me to…”

I _cracked_ my fist against the door once again, harder this time and beneath my palm I felt the doorframe groan, as well as a sudden crackling of old wood starting to splinter. Inside the shop, I heard Pan choke back a yelp, but I could care less at his point, this was no longer about Attendants and guilds, nor the suffocating rules put into place, this was _personal,_ and the whole of this City was about to suffer as a result.

“Listen to me, Pan, and listen to me very carefully. None of us have time to waste! _Gloriville_ doesn’t have time to waste! There is an enhanced Fallen about to turn and finding Peking Duck may be the only way of stopping it! You can stay bundled up in your shop if you want, but how safe will you feel when the whole lot collapses over your head!?”

There was no response, nothing except more noise, more clattering, the snap of a desk draw being opened, a chair being knocked over. I looked up to B-52 helplessly, and the cyborg pursed his lips as a response. It was clear that trying to bully Pan into helping wouldn’t work, and if he was resisting even a civil discussion, then…

“Fine.” I snarled through the door, turning sharply on my heel. “We’ll find him ourselves, thanks for nothing.”

“Nonna.” B-52 mumbled beside me, holding out a hand for me, perhaps to comfort me, perhaps for me to take. “We don’t have time to waste.”

He was right, of course he was right, and as we turned to go, I felt that warmth once again rise up within me, a softer sensation than the anger bubbling beneath my skin. It placated the feeling, soothing the irrationality and clearing my head, anger wouldn’t help me at all here. As we walked away, the clicking of our heels against the cobbles completely masked the clunk of a bolt sliding open behind us, though it wasn’t enough to mask the exhausted, resigned voice that rang out.

“Wait.”

I whipped around, hardly daring to believe my luck. Pan was standing a few feet behind us, his eyes downcast and his tongue between his teeth as he scribbled hastily onto a piece of paper with his quill. Judging by the casual way in which he was dressed, it looked as if we had woken him up, which at least explained the decline in his already sour mood. As he reached us, he shot me a look that wished me nothing but ill, and spoke slowly, directly.

“I have heard a rumour that he is travelling along the coastline,” he huffed, ungraciously shoving the paper into my hands, as if I would poison him if he touched me, “if you follow the directions I have given you and if you walk for far enough, you will find a town built into a small cliff side The current there keeps the water surrounding it warm, a temperature that he greatly favours. If I am not mistaken, the locals there will know him at least, he has paid them visits in the past. With any luck he will be there, but if not then I assume that they will be able to tell you where he is travelling to next.”

I scanned the paper greedily, hardly daring to believe our luck; I glanced up at B-52, almost giddy with relief, but the cyborg wore no such expression. Wordlessly, he reached out to pluck the paper from my hand, fold it deftly and tuck it into his breast pocket.

“Sorry about your window.” He said coldly, turning to go, brushing my shoulder with a careful hand. “We should hurry, Nonna.”

“Yeah. Yeah okay.” I mumbled, moving to follow him, but something in Pan’s expression caught my eye, and I looked back towards him. It was an odd sight to see a man who had shown me nothing but the cold shoulder throughout my time in Gloriville, suddenly looking so conflicted, concerned even. I had half a mind to ask him what the hell his problem was, until…

“I would advise you to sever your contract with this Food Soul,” he said shortly, his lips twisted in disgust, “before things become irreversible for you.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

But B-52 was calling me again, insistently this time, and as much as I would’ve loved to have stayed behind and told Pan exactly what I thought of him, I was well aware that every second spent with this miserable old man was a second wasted. For once I would have to hold my tongue, at least until I got back.  
So I stalked away, my loose coat flying behind me, though not before Pan had slunk back into his shop, and not before the door had been opened just about wide enough for me to see the blurred, shadowy outlines of three, small cases stacked neatly on top of one another beside his desk.

Perhaps he wasn’t completely in denial after all. Where exactly was he hoping to run to?

-

Pan’s crude, shaky map sent B-52 and I back towards Gloriville’s forests, and so we began our trek up through a deserted field’s dirt path, neither of us talking much, too subdued by the horrible silence that rang in our ears; the quiet was almost suffocating. As the cobbles beneath my feet slowly began to dissolve into frozen mud, I suddenly realised that this was the same path I had taken into Gloriville all those months ago. For some reason, that realisation left a sickening weight in my stomach, something that – once settled – refused to leave, preferring instead to sit there like a physical presence.  
This didn’t feel right, retracing my steps like this, I hadn’t been back to this part of Gloriville for so long and so much had changed since then, the person I was now wasn’t who I’d been back then. Of course not, I’d left that woman behind where I’d been attacked by the Fallen… Perhaps they had been aiming to strip away what was left of me. Their method of attack had been horribly _specific,_ after all.

Slowly, the underbrush around us thickened, plunging us into a more complete darkness, one so deep that if the moon hadn’t been shining above, we wouldn’t even have been able to make each other out. However, it turned out that the moon’s light was both a blessing and a curse, as its silvery veil soon began to show me trees I had seen before, pathways who’s underbrush I had fought through as I’d raced down them, leaves that had tangled themselves into my hair when I’d fallen.

_’”Something is trying to study you.”’_

“I should have brought my wings.” B-52 suddenly spoke next to me, breaking through my memories like a sledgehammer through ice. “I dislike walking.”

He trailed off when he received no answer, and instead turned his attention back to the map held between his huge fingers. At least, he did for a while, until curiosity evidently got the better of him.

“Are you alright, Nonna?” He asked, his tone was soft, warm, gentle…

It made me want to trust him.

“I ah… Came through this part of the forest when I first arrived in Tierra.” I said quietly, as if speaking too loudly would bring my memories rushing back all at once. I had to go carefully, slowly. “It wasn’t an easy journey here. I had to row myself for the last leg of my journey, there’s a little cove not far from here, I left the boat there and found a path up through the cliff, I guess it was a hiker’s path. Well, it sure fucking _felt_ like one.”

I glanced off to the right, my eyes met with nothing but trees and underbrush, oddly comforted to realise that I didn’t remember which way the cove even was, had I forgotten it or forced myself to block it out? It wasn’t pleasant to think about.

“That boat is probably still there, I don’t know. I haven’t been back to check, and I don’t want to if I’m honest.”

“I see.”

It was clear that B-52 was unsure of what to say. I couldn’t blame him, I was just grateful to have a listening ear, someone who would let me ramble on and on until I felt better. I hadn’t cared to tell anyone about my journey here, or my reasons for coming here in the first place, such things weren’t easy to talk about. But again, B-52 Cocktail liked to talk.

“Why did you come here, Nonna?” He asked carefully, his working eye swivelling around to look at me, the joints in his neck clicking rhythmically as he cocked his head. “The life of a Cooking Attendant does not suit you, something that you have been incredibly vocal about. Were you forced to come to Tierra?”

A lump grew in my throat.

“Not… N-Not so much as forced as… I-It was the only option left for me.” I said clumsily, scuffing at the frosty leaves beneath my shoes. “My home was… Well, I don’t even know if it’s still there, but it got so bad that I _had_ to leave, everyone else had, but I guess it just took me longer to realise that it was over. I really didn’t know what to do until Y… Um, s-someone I knew saw my situation, and took pity on me; they recommended me to Olivia.”

I swallowed again, I had to watch my tongue, I couldn’t afford to let everything show now, regardless of how much I trusted B-52, it would have to wait, there were far bigger things at stake here. At the very least I could wait until after this whole mess was sorted out. Yes… Yes, I could comfort myself with that, as soon as everything was back to normal, then B-52 and I could talk.

“I’m not a terrible baker, despite what you’ve seen in the kitchen,” I laughed suddenly, breaking the horrid silence once more, “but this wasn’t what I was expecting. I wasn’t expecting Tierra to be like this and I certainly didn’t expect Olivia and the Guild to suck all of the joy out of the experience.”

“Gloriville survives because of a set system, as Pudding mentioned to you.” B-52 said gently, turning suddenly and sharply to the right, I did my very best to follow him; cursing as a few thorns snagged my trousers. “Set menus, set rules, set ingredients, set rations for the merchants at the market. Everyone gets fed and everyone gets paid, but I cannot remember there ever being changes made to that system.”

I wrinkled up my nose at the very thought, really this whole affair had been very loosely described to me, I hadn’t been told about the set menus, nor had I been told that each new member of my staff would have to be dragged out of a spinning circle of light. 

“Yeah, well… Surviving is one thing,” I mumbled, repeating a series of thoughts that had often flitted through my head, “but… No one smiles in Gloriville. Have you noticed? I sure have.”

B-52 stopped at that, or perhaps he was waiting for me to free myself yet again from the clutches of a thorn bush; illuminated by the moon’s light, I saw the synthetic skin around his working eye wrinkle as he frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“You don’t smile either.” He said shortly, reaching out an enormous hand to pluck a leaf or two out of my hair, smoothing through the loose curls for a fraction of a second, a heartbeat. “You lost someone special to you, didn’t you?” 

I froze. This was not a conversation I ever wanted to have with him, especially not at a time like this. B-52 was looking at me intently, expectantly. My feet were positively _itching_ to continue our journey, but the cyborg appeared to have bigger things on his mind now, I could see it in the way he stood and the manner in which his jaw clenched.

“I… Lost someone.” He began, his voice strained, the same quality it had had on the previous night. “A fellow Food Soul, I think… My memory does not serve me well, but I know for certain that he meant a great deal to me and losing him changed me, I am still not sure how, but I am not the same Food Soul I was when I knew him.”

He flitted his gleaming eye down to meet my own, and I felt something stir unpleasantly behind my ribs, something impatient and needy, something that was eager to reach out and grab him, to pull him closer, closer!

“I’m sorry,” I replied, disturbed to hear how cold my voice was in comparison to the raw emotion he had shown me, “for your loss.”

“Nonna, please.” B-52 spoke hurriedly, eyebrows contracting together into a look of hurt, a plea, that expression alone was enough to make whatever was behind my ribs flutter more insistently, scraping at the bone, trying to claw its way out. “The man in your photograph. Who was he to you?”

“That isn’t important right now, B,” I spoke gently, though my voice shook with the effort of hiding everything building up in my stomach, “we need to find Peking, we need to…”

“Am I a replacement?” He suddenly asked, a question that pierced me like a physical wound, so precise and so _real_ that I almost gasped from the pain. I shook my head violently, trying wildly to think of something I could say to him so we could put this matter to bed.

“B… I’m. B, I’m not trying to replace anyone!”

“Nonna.” His voice was lower now, but the anger I’d expected wasn’t there, instead a hollow note of _sorrow_ rang clearly through the air. “Forgive me, but I am not stupid. I have enough intelligence to piece things together.”

“B-52!”

“I look like him, don’t I? I look like that man and y…”

“B! _Shut up_ a moment! Listen!”

B-52 looked practically scandalised for a fraction of a second, but luckily that was all he needed to hear what I had heard. Somewhere to our far right, something or _someone_ was threading their way through the trees, someone who – despite their slow footsteps – was still big enough to make everything around them rustle, and shake down pieces of debris from trees and bushes onto the forest floor below. Immediately, B-52’s expression changed, and in a flash he had drawn his cane from the holster at his belt, metal fingers curled expertly around the weapon. I stood as still as a statue, squinting desperately through the trees, trying my best to ignore the way my heart was once again trying to burst through my chest.

The noise continued, yet the source remained completely hidden amongst the trees, and deep within my chest I felt that sense of déjà vu rising again. How many times had this happened now? I had honestly lost count, and the idea of being stalked by this thing for the rest of my life was both a frightening and infuriating thought, just what would it take to…

A short distance away from us, an enormous silhouette suddenly came into view, illuminated for a split second against the pale bark of a silver birch tree, shoulders hunched and head bowed as it ducked under a low hanging branch. Then it vanished as quickly as it had come, disappearing once again into the forest’s darkness, following a path directly parallel to ours. The noise of its journey continued on, though I could no longer pinpoint its silhouette, but in that moment I found that I didn’t care, for the mixture of emotions simmering away inside my head distracted me.

“B?” I asked, my voice hushed and hopeful. “Did you…”

“Whoever he is, he is definitely a Food Soul.” B-52 interrupted, anticipating a question that I had yet to ask him. “A powerful one, far more powerful than average. We should keep our distance from him, if possible.” 

I exhaled slowly, willing my panic to leave with my breath, there was no proof that this strange Food Soul was behind all of the encounters I’d had in Gloriville’s forests, none whatsoever. That particular mystery could wait, it would have to wait, there were far more important things at stake here, there wouldn’t be anywhere to ponder upon that mystery if we allowed Yuxiang to turn.

“Lets just keep going.” I said quietly, bowing my head and turning away from the cyborg, hoping against hope that he would drop the sticky subject of what he meant to me, at least for now. However, B-52 made no move to follow me, on the contrary he stayed where he was, his head tilted to the side ever so slightly, his working eye glazed over ever so slightly.

“Do you hear water?” He asked softly.

I paused, and I too stood still, allowing the sounds of the forest to close in on me and it didn’t take long for me to zone in on the noise, really I wasn’t sure how I had managed to miss it.   
In that moment, there was a silent yet brutally clear understanding between B-52 and I; that for now we should focus solely on the situation at hand, and save whatever differences we had for later, if there _was_ a later.

We continued on, and with each step we took, the sound of the water grew louder and louder, and the path we had followed thus far suddenly took a sharp dip, so much so that I had to steady myself before carrying on, the forest’s floor was rock hard yet slippery with frozen dew, I couldn’t afford to slip and hurt myself here. 

“Wait.” B-52 murmured beside me, and though his voice was quiet, it still brought me to a halt, giving me enough time to properly register our new surroundings. It didn’t much look like a forest anymore, what with the lack of trees and the way that the ground on either side of our path had begun to rise up, growing higher and higher in correspondence with the steep hill we had started to descend. Way ahead of me, I could see that our trail looked more like a passageway now, one that lead further and further down, its walls dark and glistening with water – at least I hoped it was water. 

That water wasn’t the only thing I could hear now.

In amongst that thundering flow, a jerky, harsh sound came floating towards us, carried by the wind, it rose and fell unevenly in volume; strung together into a melody that my ears could not get used to, and a language that still felt alien to me. There was no doubt whatsoever in mind as to what it was and _who_ it was coming from.

B-52 appeared to have reached the same conclusion.

“Peking opera,” he grunted, that grip tightening around his cane, “our target is close by, we’d best be cautious.”

I winced at the sight, seeing more fire was the very last thing I needed – in fact – a fight between Peking and B-52 would surely be something out my very worst nightmares; watching the latter fight off the Fallen in the catacombs had been bad enough. We began once again, drawing nearer and nearer towards the sound, descending deeper and deeper into that damp passage, the roar of the water was closer now, and loud enough to completely drown the singing out. The air around us had changed to, from the crisp chill of the winter to something much heavier and horribly humid, it clung to my hair and skin unpleasantly, a sensation that increased rapidly as the walls on either side of us continued to rise, deeper, darker. 

“The map mentioned nothing of this.” B-52 rumbled beside me, the light of his eye forming a narrow strip that cut through the darkness around us. “Or this damp. These conditions do not mix well with me.”

I neglected to reply, too busy focusing on where to put my feet, everything around me was wet and slippery, and as our path slowly began to curve to the left, I did my best to anchor myself to the slimy walls, my breath forming in clouds before me, illuminated by a faint light that slowly crept into view, breaking through the darkness that had consumed us, it was like being back in the catacombs again, searching for a way out, following the weakest rays of light as if they were floodlights showing us the way home. As the light before us grew hesitantly brighter, I realised with a surge of relief that the passage was widening and opening out into a mercifully clearer view than the forest had provided us with, a sight finally illuminated by the far off light of an early winter sun just beginning to show on the horizon, its rays once again staining the dark clouds with flecks of red and pink. 

Then my feet were suddenly plunged into a puddle of icy water, a puddle that wasted no time in soaking right through the worn material of my shoes and into my socks, causing me to swear and instinctively kick out at the invading cold.

“Blyat! Ugh! What the hell is this!?”

“Water.” B-52 grunted, hesitating for a split second before striding ahead of me, crashing through the water at his feet as if it wasn’t there. “Too much water.”

He was quite right, though we had been freed from the claustrophobic passage – judging by the noise and the damp – the place it had lead us to appeared to be right beside a waterfall, one that thundered down the high stone wall before us, transforming the rocks beneath us into the perfect death trap, as the water streaming across them had nowhere else to go but down and down until it poured over a steep drop to what I assumed was a deeper pool of water below. B-52’s earlier complaint had been quite right, Pan hadn’t told us about the incredible inconvenience that this journey would cause us, or the danger it would put is in.

I took in a short breath; one wrong move and I would be swept away over that edge, nullifying every effort we had made to get here. We climbed cautiously up a makeshift staircase no doubt eroded by the constantly falling water, and as we ascended, I began to make out the sloping, murky shapes of houses hidden in the trees alongside and above us. The sight almost stopped me dead in my tracks; the sense of foreboding our journey had given me temporarily subsiding as I fully took in my surroundings. Whoever was responsible for this quaint little village obviously had not cared about the steep cliff face or the waterfalls that tumbled down it, rather they had adapted their way of life around it, making use of every available surface, fusing nature with manmade structure, literally carving out an existence for themselves in what would’ve been an incredibly dangerous environment.   
Hadn’t Pan mentioned something about Peking paying this idyllic yet deeply strange little village several visits? I couldn’t exactly blame him, if my pride had been bruised in a way that I had no doubt bruised his, I would’ve wanted to hide myself a way in a place like this too. 

“Oy, B?” I called to the cyborg, putting out my arms to balance myself, incredibly aware of just how little grip my work shoes had on the glassy rock below me. “Don’t go so fast! I can’t afford to rush over these things, I…”

But B-52 had come to a dead stop in front of me, in fact his whole body had frozen up, he had even stopped blinking, preferring instead to stare straight ahead at the misty rocks before us. Wobbling dangerously with each step I took, I eventually hauled myself up to stand beside him, finally catching sight of what had caused him to seize up.

Through the damp mist created by the falling water, a lithe silhouette gently swayed upon a flat platter of rock, its shape was almost uncannily similar to a theatre stage, a stage on which our target had chosen to perform. His hands were stretched out before him, his fingers splayed and elegant, his feet skipped nimbly across the slick rock beneath as if it wasn’t even there, the movement of his body bending and bobbing in tandem with the song that poured from his mouth. 

Peking Duck twirled expertly upon the rock; his clothes and his great plait – hanging free for once – swirled around him, so perfectly that it was almost as if it were a fifth limb, as rigorously trained and honed as the rest of his body. As his song continued on, I couldn’t help but stare, suddenly recalling a comment B-52 had made all those months ago back at the restaurant regarding Peking’s singing.

_‘“They are clearly a professional. I can tell by their intonation that they have been singing for many years.”’_

Professional he certainly was, just how long had he been doing this? Despite my intense dislike of the melody ringing out across the damp rock, I had to admit that his performance was a spectacular one, spectacular yet terrifying. In Peking Duck’s face, I once again saw the kindly expression of the man who had saved my restaurant, who had beaten away the corrupt influence of Spaghetti as if the man were nothing but a mosquito. I saw the face of the person who had nurtured and mentored me, never asking for anything in return, never wishing for anything else except to help me, and to see me grow from the pitiful state Gloriville’s Cooking Attendants were so often left in. 

Though my time at the restaurant had not been a happy one, I suddenly found myself wishing that we could go back. Just for one more day.

“Come on, B.” I said hoarsely, plucking up my remaining courage and beginning my perilous journey across the rocks. “If he’s in a good enough mood, maybe this won’t be so bad.

“B-52?”

But the cyborg didn’t move, he didn’t even register that I was talking to him, instead he remained rooted to the spot, his face taut and twisted as if someone had suddenly pulled his skin back from behind, revealing every ridge and joint of the metalwork beneath. That tightness had infected his whole body, every inch of him was on edge, still as a statue yet somehow simultaneously as live as a raw nerve. 

I had never seen that kind of _fear_ in him before.

“B? What’s wrong? Why are you…”

I fell silent abruptly, aware that the thundering of the water around us was now the only sound filling the area. My whole body tingled sickeningly with fear as I turned to face Peking, who had grown motionless mid-move; his right hand remained outstretched and his head remained tilted, golden eyes fixed directly upon my face, it was as if someone had carved him out of stone.

Then he smiled, a smile that was far too wide, a smile that took up far too much of his face, so much so that it almost split him in two; he allowed his body to relax and he opened up his arms with a shout.

“Attendant Noyabrina! What a surprise this is. I wasn’t expecting you of all people. Come! Dance with me! My performance will be far more interesting with you here.”

Something was buzzing insistently at the back of my skull like a nest of angry hornets, there was something horribly wrong here, nothing felt right to me anymore, but there really wasn’t much I could do about it now, I had come out here to this waterlogged village for a reason.  
I stepped carefully forward, words tumbling from my mouth before I could stop them. 

“Peking, listen to me, please? I’m not here to dance, I’m not here to play games, you _have_ to come back to Gloriville, Yuxiang is…”

But I never had the chance to finish, as without so much as a breath of warning, all Hell broke loose.

A flash of red was the first thing I saw, streaking across the wet rock towards Peking and I; dark eyes came second, black scleras and red pupils burning a furious blood red; bared teeth came third, sharp and practiced in the art of _ripping_ away at anything that stood in their way, flesh, bone, it didn’t matter. Fourth and lastly came a searing pain across my left wrist, a wrist that was now held captive between two jagged, serrated edges. I barely had time to draw breath before my feet left the sodden ground and I was hoisted into the air, my wide, startled eyes now level with those of my attacker, dark red slits set deep into a waxy face, all sharp cheekbones and teeth, teeth and _more teeth._

And in that moment, my brain exploded with memories.

I knew at some point that I had begun to scream, a piercing sound that contained within it the fear that had plagued me on my first night in Tierra, the horror at the idea of being stalked, the anger and the frustration at being constantly unable to find my attacker; the one who had started everything, the one who had managed to keep themselves hidden for all this time, _until now._

But that sound never left me, in fact, neither of us had the chance to exchange any words before the grip around my wrist was ripped away along with its owner as B-52 Cocktail came tearing across the rocks, throwing his whole body weight against my attacker.   
I plummeted to the ground, colliding with the icy cold stone beneath me with a shuddering gasp, immediately cradling my injured wrist, registering the blood and the bruising and the odd angle at which I held it.

I had to hide it; B-52 wouldn’t be distracted for long and with my heart rate at this speed, it would take mere seconds for it to…

“Goodness. It’s an intervention.” Peking chuckled from somewhere above me, I could still see him clear as day despite the shock beginning to pulse through my body. “Dear me, Noyabrina, you really are a magnet for trouble aren’t you? I must admit that at first I wondered why my acquaintance here was so keen to destroy you upon your arrival in Tierra, but after knowing you for this long and experiencing first hand what kind of life you lead, I’m slowly being won over to his side. Potential Fallen or not, you’re still quite a _nuisance.”_

Those words turned my very blood to ice, my brain was beginning to wake up, my cognitive functions were slowly returning to me, my whole body was violently rejecting what had happened in order for me to process it. First, I stared up at the golden-eyed Food Soul, and that smile still plastered across his face, before my eyes focused in on the furious fight between B-52 and the Food Soul who had attacked me. Both of them were so invested in striking the other that at first it was impossible to tell who was who, but eventually B-52’s size triumphed, and with horrifying speed he slammed his smaller opponent into the ground below, and I was able to get a better look at the face of the man who had ruined my first night in Tierra.

He was clearly winded, breathing heavily beneath the cyborg in some attempt to get his breath back, even though B-52 dwarfed him, he wasn’t exactly small, I could tell that when standing he was easily at least a foot taller than me, and the less said about his build the better. But the most terrifying thing about him came in the shape of two, enormous pincers that sprouted from his back, quivering and occasionally snapping at the mechanical Food Soul that kept their owner pinned. Just looking at those claws made my stomach churn, and I unconsciously put my hand against the soft flesh there, remembering the pain, the blood, so much that my ruined clothes had been soaked with it. 

It took me a while to realise that my shoulders were shaking with stifled sobs.

“Fucking… F-Fuck, God _fucking_ damnit, why!?” I shouted, whipping around to stare up at Peking, tears wetting my already damp cheeks. “Why did all of this have to happen to me!? I never wanted this! I never wanted to hurt anyone, I never wanted to cause any trouble and I was _never_ the Enhanced fucking Fallen! What will it take to make you and your fucking henchman realise that!?”

Peking didn’t reply, in fact my tantrum had little to no effect on him whatsoever, he just kept on smiling, watching as I dissolved into tears upon the rock, in fact my misery seemed to do nothing but intrigue him. Slowly, he sunk down until he crouched before me, golden eyes hooded and red-rimmed, up close he didn’t look quite so perfect anymore, up close I could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and the way the skin of his face lay paper thin against his bones, fragile and delicate; I wouldn’t have been surprised if a gust of wind could’ve blown him away.

“We were naïve I suppose.” He murmured, and even his voice sounded as if it were failing him, it was so faint that it was almost lost in amongst the cacophony of water. “Reckless and rash, he acted too quickly for his own good and regrettably I followed suit… Look at him, he still thinks you’re a threat, but I know better now. I know that involving myself with you was a complete waste of my time, Nonna, perhaps if I had just stopped to look a little _closer_ at you I would’ve seen that.”

Before I could stop him, he reached down to seize my injured wrist in a vice like grip, I tensed up unbearably, expecting to scream at the pain, but no such sensation came. Instead, I watched with horror as the Food Soul drew my wrist up to his eyes, his smile widening as he scanned the skin there, unblemished, unmarked. 

“Remarkable, such speed. How on earth did you hide for this long?”

Behind us, I could hear B-52 once again struggling with his opponent, a sound that wouldn’t have coaxed me to turn had he not shouted my name, his voice sharp and clear, breaking through my hazy mind like a stone through a window.

“Nonna! Get away from him! Run! Don’t let him touch you!”

Peking’s golden eyes flitted up and above my head, towards the scene behind me, his smile growing colder, crueller. 

“Best not let him go, B-52 Cocktail,” he laughed, his tone light and almost musical, “I’m not sure what prompted him to seek me out this time, but he is never happy to be interrupted…”

A horrible sound came then, a rasping, grating chorus of laughter, one that I had never heard before, it was a sound that – even without seeing him – I knew belonged to the Food Soul that had made such a violent entrance. It sounded like the way he acted, rough yet direct, and it the words that followed were just as good at cutting me open as his claws had been.

“You fucking _know_ why I’m here, I keep telling you. I’m here to cut this fucking girl in half before she turns! Or do you wanna see Gloriville _destroyed?”_

A nerve was pulsing in Peking’s temple, and in an instant the hand around my wrist was gone and instead had tightened itself around my coat collar. A sense of déjà vu flooded me once more as I was yanked up off of the ground yet again, I thrashed furiously in Peking’s grip, terrified, kicking my legs and waving my arms as best I could, but no matter what I did I just couldn’t seem to reach him. This was catastrophic, my heart was going crazy, every nerve in my body was _screaming_ in panic, I needed to act, I needed to defend myself before it was too late. At that moment, I no longer knew who I was, or what I wanted to hide, or who I wanted to protect, all I knew was that I had to get away from him and fast.

“Peking…!” I huffed, gripping at his sleeve tightly, my voice strained and pleading. _”Please,_ Yuxiang is going to turn, she… She’ll destroy Gloriville, Peking! That’s why I’m h-here! She needs you there!”

B-52 was shouting something again, but for some reason I couldn’t make out the words, I couldn’t even register them, all I could focus on was the grip at my throat, and the way Peking’s eyes had narrowed into slits, glowing golden. His scleras were oddly red… Had they always been like that?

“Yuxiang was never your concern,” he murmured softly, as if whispering to a lover, “she is her Master Attendant’s concern, and perhaps mine at one point in our lives. We are close, Noyabrina, perhaps too close, you could call us _soul mates_ if you wish, it explains why B-52 was so awfully mistaken in labelling her as the Enhanced Fallen at least; but then again, it isn’t the first time he has mistaken someone for a Fallen, is it?”

“Nonna! _Shoot him!”_ B-52 was screaming now, his vocal programme glitching and stuttering with the volume, I could hear his engine roaring behind us, combined with the scrape of his limbs against the rocks as he fought to keep the clawed Food Soul pinned. _”Please! **Nonna! Please!”**_

A dead, heavy weight had dropped in the pit of my stomach, as if someone had just force-fed me a boulder. Somewhere in the back of my mind, everything was beginning to make sense, but the realisation of just what was going on was so great that it took me _a second_ too long to finally react. And a second too long was all Peking Duck needed.

I felt the thick fabric of my coat puncture first, then the cotton of my work shirt, and finally my skin splitting clean open as my former mentor _plunged_ his hand into my chest with horrifying speed, deadly accuracy, incredible strength. I felt the blood gurgling up in my throat and immediately began to choke, my whole body shaking violently as my mind struggled to comprehend what had just happened. I could _feel_ Peking’s hand inside my chest, sharp nails scrabbling between my ribs, nimble yet powerful fingers snapping the bone, grabbing and _tearing_ until they found what they were looking for.

Behind me, B-52 was _screaming_ uncontrollably, a horrific sound that filled my head, until all I could hear was his agony, his grief and all I could feel was Peking’s hand pulling away from my chest, his prize held triumphantly in his hand.  
Before my eyes, golden lights began to pop, spreading across my vision until I couldn’t see anymore, until I couldn’t feel or focus on anything but the concoction of emotions surging through me and the sight of Peking Duck holding my heart right in front of my face, still resolutely and stubbornly beating, still attached to my body. 

This felt different. This didn’t feel normal. What was this _light?_ What were these emotions? What was this abnormal _pulling?_ It was as if Peking were trying to break a rubber band, stretching it tighter and tighter, expecting it to break. Tighter and tighter he pulled, _tighter, tighter!_

It refused. But apparently that didn’t matter to Peking, not judging by the look in his eyes, nothing mattered to him anymore; that much was obvious…

“I believe…” He whispered to me, drawing me still closer to him, those needle sharp nails digging still deeper into the frantically beating organ in his hand, but he wasn’t aiming to kill, just to humiliate. Of course, of course that was what he wanted, he had to get even with me after all, didn’t he? 

“It is high time that we _both_ showed our true selves. Don’t you agree, _**Miss Murmansk?”**_

There was a slab of cold metal in my hand, a slab of metal that was pulled shakily from a holster, a slab of metal pressed into the soft flesh of a stomach, a slab of metal that let loose a deafening crack of sound as it was fired. One bullet, two, three! Peking Duck stumbled backwards with a gargle of pain, a gargle that melted flawlessly into a ear splitting scream as his whole frame convulsed, his entire _being_ was warped and bent back at a horrifying angle before his body, and everything else that had made him Peking Duck was all destroyed. 

I watched numbly as that familiar face was completely swallowed up, replaced instead by two gigantic black eyes, a razor sharp beak lined with teeth, bared and salivating. A torrent of glossy feathers erupted from his body and a pair of truly gargantuan wings burst from the fragile skin of his back, wholly obscuring the pale light of the early morning sky with their sheer size, spreading wider and wider, the newly formed bones cracking and groaning as they struggled to take form.

The creature, this _monster_ finally released me from his grip; perhaps he was finally done with me, or perhaps he could no longer hold me properly, his hands had disappeared, devoured by his new form. I felt my back collide heavily with the wet rock beneath, and allowed the icy cold water to flood my clothes and my hair, carrying the blood from my chest wound down and across the stone, down, down, down.  
Through half-lidded eyes, I watched as the Enhanced Fallen who used to be Peking Duck continue to grow, feathers continued to sprout, his size ballooned, bigger and bigger until I thought he would fill the whole town. He was so huge that even he himself didn’t seem able to carry his weight, the great beast crawled helplessly upon the rock, talons flailing and his bulging black eyes turned to the horizon, letting loose another deafening screech, a sound of pure fury, a sound of _vengeance._

Then the beast spread his leviathan wings, and somewhere above me I heard those great appendages collide with buildings, sending wood and stone raining down with the water, covering the sodden rock with debris. I lay there helplessly, watching as a cold and complete darkness slowly began to creep in from the corners of my eyes, obscuring my vision until all I had to rely on was sound. More screeching, the swishing of enormous wings whistling through the air, the noise of the very ground shaking beneath me as something _gargantuan_ took flight, clumsy and stumbling as if he were unsure of how to do it, or perhaps his enormous body was just too heavy for those wings to carry. Who knew, who cared anymore? It was over, everything was over…

Then, silence.

Deafening, absolute.

Someone else’s voice tore at the quiet this time, a growling, infuriated roar, a battle cry. To my right I heard someone’s footsteps thundering through the water, I heard their voice, hoarse yet bellowing, calling after the monstrosity that had departed, screaming something unintelligible, something in another language. I couldn’t bring myself to dwell on it now, I couldn’t bring myself to dwell on anything but the weak beat that my heart still struggled to maintain, or the shaking hands that slowly lifted my heavy body up from the rocks, pulling me into a trembling embrace.

“Nonna…” I heard the owner of those hands sobbing violently, his wet face hidden in the crook of my neck, nestling against the faint pulse that still beat there. “Nonna… I’m sorry. I-I’m… I’m so… Sorry. I’m… So…”

Fear spiked at me savagely, like someone sticking splinters into an open wound, raw and unbearably painful. I wanted to push him away, I didn’t want him to see what was coming next, I didn’t want him to _feel_ what I could already feel building up within me. A surge of heat, a pulse of natural energy, creeping through my bloodstream, warming my splintered bones, beginning its journey to the damage dealt by the Enhanced Fallen. 

If only he had killed me. If only… 

I heard a voice from above us, one ruined by the volume its owner had shouted at, his words were gruff, yet they carried sympathy with them, or at least some vague idea of what sympathy was supposed to be.

“Fucked up… I… Fucked up big fucking time.” He was growling, a tremor just audible in his voice, a tremor that he was trying to hide. “Best get out of Gloriville, big guy. Once those humans catch wind of this, they’ll use you until your soul power fucking shrivels away. Take the girl with you if you want… Least you could do is bury her.”

All B-52 Cocktail could do in response was continue to cry weakly into my neck, his tears – synthetic or authentic – mingling with the blood, water and sweat that already coated my skin. I could feel a breath forming in my mouth, a pained and strangled sound, bubbling up from my bruised throat, whispered through chapped lips.

“B… I’m… Sorry… So sorry… Too…”

My body twitched, a violent jerk that startled the mechanical Food Soul holding me, though his hands still supported my weight, I could tell that something had changed. He had noticed, there was nothing to stop him from seeing now, there was nothing I could do to remedy this, nothing I could do to stop this from hurting.

“N-Nonna?”

“What the _fuck?”_ Growled the second voice, a little further away this time, perhaps its owner had already begun to move away, but the distance he had put between myself and B-52 wouldn’t stop him from seeing either. “The fuck is going on here? What in the…”

Nothing could ever be the same now. No progress had been made here.

“She’s… _Healing.”_

My body jerked again, my spine arching so violently that the bones creaked in protest. In an instant, my eyes flew open as my vision was returned to me, and my brain slowly and painfully ground back into its normal functions. But these miracles weren’t without consequence, a broken arm or a crushed wrist were one thing, but damage to the heart was something utterly different, something that couldn’t be masked or hidden away.  
I could feel it properly now, that searing, familiar heat shooting through my body, bubbling beneath my skin, so bright and so powerful that it shone through the thin skin at my throat, burning in the back of my throat as I opened my mouth in a silent scream. The glow spread throughout my chest, crisscrossing through an intricate network beneath my skin resembling the roots and stems of trees and their branches, it spread until my whole upper body was alight with it. I could feel it everywhere, sizzling gently, hot enough to fry a human’s flesh, but of course there was nothing _human_ about this, about _me_

The heat latched on to my ruined heart, the glow growing brighter and brighter within the ripped muscle and tissue, slowly _pulling_ it back into my chest, to the place where it belonged. Once inside, it was immediately encased and protected once again as my ribs were reformed around it. The bones hissed, red-hot, as they were moulded carefully and expertly back into their proper shape, the sharp shards of broken bone were rounded off, fused together, every inch of damage left by Peking’s monstrous strength was wiped clean away; blood congealed, flesh regrew, bones knitted. Pain was to be expected, but it came in awkward waves, the shock drawing sharp, pitiful gasps from me, and perhaps the odd whine, but I endured it, never once making an attempt to stop it. I deserved this, I deserved to feel every second of the pain.

Throughout the whole wretched ordeal, B-52’s bulging eye never left me.

Once again, there was a bloody, jagged rip left in the fabric of my clothes, yet no wound remained, no proof, no evidence that anything had ever happened. For a brief, fleeting moment, I remembered lying upon the forest floor all those months ago, damp leaves surrounding me, waiting for my body to quickly and quietly repair the raw gash left across my stomach. From the attack that started it all.

I pushed myself up, off of B-52’s lap, wincing as my newly repaired rips twinged sharply in protest. I shouldn’t be moving anywhere, I needed to rest and give my body time to recover, I knew better than this, but at that moment I didn’t care, I didn’t deserve to have someone like B-52 touch me. I knelt in the icy water, my head bowed, shoulders hunched, shivering feverishly, refusing to look at anyone, I even avoided my own reflection.

Fool. _Such_ a fucking fool.

Through the shame and the guilt fogging my mind, I heard the clawed Food Soul’s gruff voice, spitting out curse words as if he were trying to rid his mouth of something foul.

“Ugh! Fuck! _Fuck!_ Fucking **Shit** I’ve been so fucking stupid and blind!” He was hissing, a frantic splashing indicating that he was pacing back and forth through the water, his footsteps heavy and enraged. **”How** did I not realise this shit sooner!? You’re a fucking _Representative!_ Aren’t you?”

I found my voice, as wretched and choked as it was, it was still able to form words.

“Shut up. You don’t… F-Fuck you. You don’t know _shit.”_

“What the **fuck** are you doing hiding out here in Tierra? Aren’t your lot a protected species now!? Do you fucking know what will happen if you get fucking killed!?”

I hid my face in my bloody hands, shoulders quivering as I began to sob, great heaving breaths that I could barely find the strength for. I knew that crying would do me no favours now, nothing could change what had happened, nothing could change what had been said and done and seen.  
B-52 hadn’t moved from my side, but I didn’t dare look up at him, I didn’t want to see his face, I didn’t want to see the realisation, the knowledge that I had been lying to him, that I had strung him along under the false pretence of _helping_ him, of _teaching_ him how to be human, of what it was like to be human.

I had no right, I’d never had the right, I didn’t know what it was like. I would never know.

“Get the fuck away from Tierra.” The other Food Soul was growling, breathing so heavily that the words were barely audible. “Before Pekin… Before that… Fuh, ugh… **Fuck!** Just get the fuck out of here! Quit parading around trying to be a god damn human and start living in the real fucking world, if you assholes go, we **all** fucking go. Now get the hell out of here before you get yourself hurt again, or _worse._ Those things know how to kill you.”

A pause.

“Fucking run, bitch.”

More splashing, a series of ragged breaths and then nothing once again, nothing but the continuous thunder of the water overhead, and even that seemed far away now, muffled, as if I were on a different planet.

Nothing else was said for a long time, B-52 and I stayed kneeling in the water, letting it all crash down upon us. What was currently running through the cyborg’s head, I had no idea, but I wasn’t keen to find out, I didn’t think I could stand to see the betrayal, the hurt staining his face, the confusion that was no doubt present in his eyes. I knew that at some point I would have to explain myself, that I would have to own up to the things I had done and the lies I had told, but for now all I could think to do was curl further into myself, my head held between my hands. I was still holding the fucking gun, of course I was, I needed to hold onto something, anything…

Metal fingers suddenly curled around my quivering form, beneath my knees and at my back, hoisting me up until I was nestled against the cyborg’s chest, and I was able to feel the hum of his engine throughout my body, the warmth was faint, and yet somehow unbearably intense, even more so than the molten material that had flowed through my body.

B-52 began to walk, slow yet deliberate, the rhythm of his pace weighed heavily upon my eyelids, until I found it impossible to keep them open. The feeling gave me hope, a tiny glimmer somewhere in my chest; maybe this was all a dream, maybe I would be given a chance to go back and re-do everything, to fix the mistakes and the hurt I had caused.

For whatever anyone would think of me now, one thing was for certain, hurting B-52 had been the very last thing I had ever wanted to do.

-  
 _Ivan would’ve been so utterly, bitterly disappointed in me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ah.
> 
> I'm sorry but I'm also not.
> 
> Also show of hands, who guessed the crossover fandom before this last chapter? I don't have anything to offer as a fuckin' prize but uhhhh I can offer you a hearty congratulations?
> 
> Anyway!! Ah,,, Next chapter is probably going to be the last one. I should apologise in advance uh, it's not a happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternative universe/crossover idea that I've had for a while following my growing love for Food Fantasy. A big old part of the story is that you aren't sure which fandom I'm crossing this over with, but considering just how terrible I am at secrets, people will probably figure it out pretty quickly.
> 
> In any case, I hope that people will enjoy reading this! It isn't meant to be taken that seriously, it's just a bit of fun for me, so if other people have fun reading it, that's just a bonus!


End file.
